


Even Cowboys Get Hip Replacements

by bonusparts



Series: Lifetime Lovebirds [1]
Category: DCU, Hawk and Dove (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Titans (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civilian Life, Drama, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Injury Recovery, Living Together, Magic, Past Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Romance, Sexual Content, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonusparts/pseuds/bonusparts
Summary: [Mood: Romantic relationship drama amid a magical mystery. Post-rehab Hank is OK being a sensitive guy. No costumes.Status: Complete.]Time waits for no man, least of all Hank Hall.
Relationships: Dawn Granger/Hank Hall, Hank Hall & Donna Troy, Hank Hall & Rachel Roth, Hank Hall & Roy Harper, John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara (implied)
Series: Lifetime Lovebirds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991140
Comments: 38
Kudos: 14





	1. Ride 'em, Cowboy

Hank screwed his hips mightily, ignoring the bullet of pain that shot through the right one in favor of the winning result the motion produced: a high-pitched cry of appreciation he hadn’t been able to get Dawn to make since before he hung up his red Hawk wings over a year ago. But ninety days of inpatient rehab plus six months of aftercare, followed by holding hands and sobbing to a psychotherapist while he’d learned how to recognize and separate himself from the triggers of his addiction had paid off, at least in the performance sense. He still occasionally missed the liberating numbness that came with a swift swig of whiskey, but he knew it couldn’t compare to the sublime happiness he’d found – or, rather, managed to rekindle – with his serene and loving lovebird.

She sighed next to his ear, her breath warm and wet, and kissed the part of his cheek that used to be a prime strike zone but of late had only risked injury from his shaving razor or her lipstick when they decided to step out for a night in the city.

He rose up enough to nuzzle the tip of her nose and kissed her lips three times, between the second and third murmuring, “I love you.”

He felt her smile as she repeated those favored words. Then she kissed him one more time and said, “That was something.”

He rolled to her side to give his hip a break, covering his wince with a quip. “Well, I’ve got to make sure you’ve got something to remember me by, in case I don’t make it back.”

Dawn shifted close to him with a click of her tongue. “It’s a perfectly routine surgery.”

“Sure, you’d say that. You’re not the one who won’t be able to have sex for eight to twelve weeks.”

“We won’t be able to have sex like this,” she allowed, before swinging her voice for another reproach. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do _anything_. You heard Dr. Alawi: We’ll just need to switch things up a bit.”

Despite himself, Hank pulled an embarrassed grin as he recalled the doctor’s precise description of recommended sexual positions that would – in some cases literally – take the pressure off of Hank’s soon-to-be-reconstructed hip labrum. “More reverse cowgirl?”

She matched him with a thirsty hum and a devastatingly sexy smile. “Who knows? It might be good for conception, too.”

A tension completely unrelated to his upcoming surgery twisted around Hank’s insides. It must have had an effect on his face because Dawn came back with a quick afterthought:

“I was just thinking we could try. We’ve been out of circulation for over a year,” she said, using their preferred phrase for their withdrawal from the cape-and-tights life because _retirement_ made them sound so damned old. “And, we’re in a good place, now. Or don’t you think so?”

“No. I mean, yeah.” Hank fumbled his way through a dumb nod. “Sure! Whatever you want, babe.”

She said his name in the same softly frustrated way that his brother used to use when Donny needed to break through Hank’s hard head. “A baby is something we both have to want. You can’t do it just for me. I thought you said you wanted this, too?”

“I do!” He sucked his lips against his teeth a moment. “I just want to be able to take care of you. You know? But I’m not Hawk anymore. Hell, I’m not even going to be able to run a lap after today!”

“You won’t be able to run laps for a few _weeks_.” She fixed him with an amused look. “You do know that a baby takes nine months, right? And that they don’t pop out sprinting?”

He wanted to dismiss her jesting just to move past the tension, but the self-honesty that had come with therapy won out. He dropped his chin into his chest, muttering, “What if we have a kid and it’s like me?”

Dawn blinked, unruffled. “First of all,” she said with fussy enunciation, “we’d have a little girl or a little boy, not an it.” She softened and stroked the corner of his mouth, smiling anew. “And, a baby with your eyes and this smile would melt all kinds of hearts.”

Hank sighed. “You know what I mean. I’ve fucked things up more times than I can count. I don’t want to do that to a kid. Or to you.” Something rough scratched at the inside of his throat, turning his voice hoarse and making it crack. “Not again.”

True to her strength, Dawn didn’t deny or shy away from his admission. “Your demons will always be with you,” she whispered. Then she cupped his face, her palm warm and comforting over the hard bone of his cheek. “But you’re not under their thumb anymore! And if you ever feel yourself slipping, you know I’m always here.”

He snickered with self-deprecation. “My hero.”

“Partner,” she corrected. Her hand moved in another comforting stroke of his skin, and she told him, “It’s okay to be scared. I get scared sometimes, too. But when we’re together, I know we can handle-”

“-Handle anything,” he finished with her, like the close to a daily prayer.

She nodded, her eyes wide and bright and full of hope. “You’re stronger than you think. I believe in you. Lots of us do.” Her mouth twitched with a tickled smile. “We didn’t call you Hank the Tank for nothing.”

Hank snorted out a half-laugh. Donna had given him that nickname, back when they’d been little more than a gang of cocky brats looking for trouble. It had become a source of pride to bear that moniker still, more than even Hawk.

He released a relinquishing breath. “I’m being a paranoid asshole again, aren’t I?”

She pinched her thumb and finger nearly together and squinted through the space. “Little bit.”

They chuckled briefly together, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she began, when he cut her off with another desperate shake.

“No! Dawn, don’t.” He took her face in his hands the same way she’d done for him and locked eyes with her. “Don’t ever be sorry for wanting what you want.” He pinched his lips together for a quick and cautious grimace. “Just let me get through this first, huh? Then, we can – I don’t know – put aside some savings? Or at least come up with a list of names we both like?”

Her eyes sparkled in the early morning light and she grinned; the thought popped into his head that a baby with her traits would be a lot more beautiful than one with his.

“Sounds like a solid plan,” she said. Her smile turned feisty once more. “In the meantime, we can practice.”

“Practice what?”

She pushed him flat to his back and climbed on top of him as if mounting a horse, then rose up on her own undamaged hips, her skin almost glowing and her hair cascading around her shoulders like ribbons of white light. “Riding cowgirl,” she said around a sultry grin.

Hank blew a lusty snort through his nostrils. “Yeehaw,” he said, and Dawn let out a light and pretty laugh, like birdsong carried on the wind, before swooping down for a kiss that quashed his concerns, at least until they’d have to face the day.


	2. Into the Fire

As much as Hank protested, hospital protocol required him to be checked-in and escorted to his room via wheelchair. Dawn smirked the whole way, prompting Hank to shoot her a mock-angry glare and a warning:

“Don’t get used to seeing me like this.”

“I’m just enjoying being able to look over your head, for a change.”

“They’ll get you walking right after surgery,” the orderly – Alexis, according to his nametag – said in an explanatory tone, even though Hank already knew that; the orthopedic surgeon had described the entire process multiple times over, from pre- to post-operation and the physical therapy recovery that would have to follow. All three to thirty weeks of it.

“Are you excited?” Alexis asked.

Hank frowned at the question. He was going under the knife, not getting superpowers. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Can’t wait.”

They came to his assigned room, where Hank took the opportunity to look around his home base for the next three days. This particular wing of the hospital had been constructed with pandemic response in mind, so it was basically a cramped studio apartment designed for one, albeit sans kitchen. There was a walk-in washroom, complete with private toilet and sink. It also had a standing shower, though one so narrow that Hank estimated he’d have a hard time getting both shoulders into it at once without splattering water onto the toilet seat. Still, such accommodation would have been considered a VIP luxury only a few years ago. In the main area of the room, the long hospital bed dominated the space, though a window granted a view of the open Midwestern sky. On the wall across from the bed was a mounted monitor, presumably for entertainment, along with a narrow, floor-to-ceiling cubby space for him to keep some clothes and his shoes. More immediately, though, it was drafty gown time; Alexis told him they’d be back with a gurney shortly, to escort him to pre-op. Then the orderly left them alone, taking the wheelchair with him.

Hank tossed his old duffel onto the bed and put his hands on his hips.

Dawn sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. “How you feeling, cowboy?”

He blew a semi-snorting breath. “Less like the cowboy and more like the cow.”

She giggled, stopped herself, and held out her hand. He took it, allowing her to lead him down to the space beside her.

He gave her a wan smile. “Is this the part where you tell me it’s not too late to back out?”

“Oh, no,” Dawn said, shaking her head. “It’s far too late for that. We put in that bidet and everything!”

“I do love not having to wipe my own ass,” Hank agreed, and they both laughed. Then he sobered, and she let go of his hand and transferred her calming touch to his knee.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she told him.

“I know. In my head, I know that. It’s just…” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m not going to be the same after this.”

“You’re right,” she said, as her chin came up and she straightened her posture for one of her knowing declarations that never felt all that condescending because they came from her. “You’re not going to be in pain just getting out of the tub. You’re not going to have to trade heat and ice packs to get a good night’s sleep. And you’re not going to make that _oh God I can’t do this_ face when you’re trying to hold me up for walking-around sex.”

Guilt itched in his chest. “Sorry that play’s scratched from the book from now on.”

“That’s all right,” Dawn assured him with one of her pleasing smiles. “I’ve never been that much a fan of it anyway.”

Hank gawped at her. “You could have told me that!”

“I know how you like to be my big, strong man. Which you are,” she said, bumping him with her arm. “And you’ll still be after this.”

He regarded her with a squint of genuine amazement. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel…right?”

“Magic,” she quipped, her gaze twinkling with equal parts amusement and mischief.

He shook his head. “I don’t believe in magic.”

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “After everything we’ve been through and everything we’ve seen – Rachel! Donna! – you don’t believe?”

Hank took her hand and gripped her fingers. “I believe in you. And me.” He snickered. “And anything I can hit, kick, catch, or throw.”

Dawn narrowed her eyes. “And what category does hip labrum repair surgery fall into?”

Hank thought a moment. “I could throw a surgeon,” he joked, making her laugh.

“Do me a favor and don’t? I want you to come back to me fast. And safe.”

They fell quiet again, and while she was close enough for him to kiss, he opted simply to bump their heads together. After a calming moment of that, he sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

“No point delaying the inevitable, I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders from his jacket. He nodded toward the hallway. “Get the door for me, so I’m not stripping in front of the whole ward?”

Dawn rose from the bed, too, as graceful as the ballerina she used to be, and slipped over to the door. She swung it closed and turned with the click of the latch. Her lips spread in a mischievous smile.

“Let me give you a hand with that,” she said, walking back to him with a swing in her hips that made them both break into light laughter. This time when she was close, they did kiss, though not enough to excite; the last thing Hank wanted was for his ride to show and him with a tent in his gown.

That didn’t happen, thankfully. By the time the gurney arrived, he was more bored than anything. Though, when he transferred from sitting up on the bed to lying on that flat rolling cot, his pulse started a pattering rhythm in his chest and his head, and he squeezed Dawn’s hand firmly when she offered it. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either; sometimes, the silence was a better way for them to communicate than words.

He pumped her hand and let go, setting his gaze on the ceiling above his head because that was the best thing to do to keep from freaking out.

As the lights and tiles passed in regular succession, he concentrated on his breathing like he’d do in workouts. Except this wasn’t fighting against weights and gravity or the countdown on a clock; all he could do was wait and try to stay calm, his reward waking up after everything was done.

As the nurses and techs came and went in the prep area, he didn’t bother trying to remember names; he’d probably never see them after they did their jobs of jabbing this and shifting that. They each exuded a kind of conditioned confidence, though, and even if that came simply from the habit of their work, it helped set him a little more at ease. When the anesthetist arrived with her cocktail of sedating drugs, he joked:

“Can’t you just knock me out with a punch?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she assured him, and scrunched her upturned nose. “Plus, it doesn’t leave as much of a mark as my fist would.” She connected the drip to his waiting IV, watched it a moment, then told him, “I’d like you to start counting down from ninety-nine for me.”

Hank rustled his head against the pillow, knowing the drill. “Ninety-nine…” he complied. “Ninety-eight…”

He got as far as muttering the next _nine_ before a heavy, relaxing blackness washed over and around him, sending him into a deep sleep in which there should have been no dreams. Except, dream he did. Of a volcanic expanse that boiled and roiled around him, an intense, uncontrollable energy that raced along his skin like flames, and a cacophonous voice that roared a word that made no sense. And among all of that, a bright blue, cooling light that reminded him only of Dawn, and onto which he desperately clung before he was dragged down into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who've joined me thus far, and to anyone new to the ride! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of these characters and the universe in which they live. Things are going to get a little bumpy, a little weird, and hopefully just the right amount of fun.


	3. Dream a Little Dream of...What?

Hank refreshed his grip on the plastic handles of his walking braces even though he didn’t really need them. This was his third lap around the floor, and he hadn’t felt more than a twinge of discomfort, certainly nothing compared to the pain he’d had doing the same thing at the same time only yesterday. The nurse who’d helped him out of bed this morning had warned him that part of the reason for that was that the recovery drugs still lingered in his system – they’d removed his IV right before breakfast – but she’d also commented at how substantially improved his range of mobility was since his first test walk just last night.

“You still shouldn’t push yourself too hard,” she’d told him, to which he’d given her one of his cockier smiles.

“I was a running back. Pushing’s in my nature.”

“It was probably also what got you here in the first place,” she’d said, nodding to his hip. “Stay on this floor and give a call if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Hank had said. And once she’d left the room, “I won’t.” Then he’d gotten to walking.

He wasn’t the brightest brain but moving helped him think. His body liked routine, and any kind of rote exertion allowed his mind to focus on other things. Like the weird experience he’d had during the surgery. The memory wasn’t clear, but it was intense. Especially that strange but somehow familiar phrase that had echoed in his skull like the boom of a massive drum….

“Hey, handsome!”

He looked up from his feet to find Dawn almost in front of him. Her presence brought a grin and a rush of feeling that everything would be better from here.

“Real clothes this morning,” she said, smiling wide.

“Yeah,” he said, turning out one besocked foot in a bottom-half shrug. “Everybody got tired of seeing my bare ass.”

“More fools them,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. As she dropped back to her heels, she twitched her nose. “You’re getting rough.”

“I’ve always been rough.” He gave her a leer. “You could shave me.”

She returned him a suggestive look of her own. “Only if I get to do it all.”

He sucked a hissing breath. “On second thought, scratch that.” He wished that he hadn’t just assumed that the surgical area would have to be shaved down before going under the knife. As it turned out, the procedure had required only a small, precise incision that didn’t come anywhere near his pubes, and now he was left to deal with them itching as they grew back. Around his surgery site, no less.

He started walking again. Dawn fell into slow and measured step beside him and said:

“I wasn’t expecting to see you up and walking around so early.”

“Can’t stay in bed all day. Wouldn’t want to, anyway.” He shot her a smile mid-step. “Unless it was with you.”

A faint and pretty blush darkened her cheeks. “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Yeah. You know, the sheets are shit compared to home, and there’s somebody prodding you or pressing buttons every two hours, but other than that….” He dropped his chin and muttered half into his shoulder, “Did you look into that thing I told you about?”

She stopped walking.

Hank stopped, too, and looked back at her. “Dawn?”

She exhaled a sigh. “No.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

Dawn came to his side, her voice hushed. “Hank,” she said, laying her hand lightly on his arm; he fought the sudden urge to shirk it off. “Take a second to think about this. You thought you saw something—”

“I heard it, too!”

“—while you were under _sedation_ —”

“I wasn’t high!” He glanced around but the staff at the main station had their heads down or stayed glued to their monitors; the ones walking the floor seemed similarly occupied and didn’t give him any extra look. Even so, he swallowed down his ratcheted anxiety. “I mean, I was. But not like what you’re talking about. Fuck,” he cursed through his teeth, “I’ve been stone-cold sober for sixteen months!”

“And you’ve done great! But even you have to admit you’ve been under stress lately. And the subconscious mind can play a lot of tricks on a person.”

“I’m not crazy,” he growled with a firm shake of his head.

Dawn raised both hands, as though to show him she was no threat. “Nobody’s saying crazy. I’m just trying to be logical about this.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

He started to blow another curse but kept it in his mouth.

Dawn went on: “You asked me to get intel on a phrase you’ve never heard before and don’t even know how to spell—”

“Fine,” he snapped with a quick nod to cut her off. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I’m overreacting, and it was all just a hallucination brought on by anxiety and knockout drugs. But Dawn,” he said, dropping his voice and strengthening his look to a stare, “what if you’re wrong? What if it this is somebody trying to fuck with us? Somebody like Wilson. Or Trigon.” He blinked away some of the ugliest thoughts but pressed, “What if you get hurt again? And what if it’s because of me?”

As her eyes went wide, he turned and headed back to his room, the gesture made less dramatic for his subtle lingering limp. Once inside, he untangled his arms from the braces, shoved them behind the chair brought in for visitors, and stalked the remaining three feet to the bed. He plopped down, slouching over his knees. Small consolation was that the position caused no pain and he did it with ease.

When he lifted his head, Dawn was waiting at the threshold of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking so pure and gentle as to be radiant.

Hank swung his head with another sigh. “Forget it. I was being an asshole again.”

“No, you weren’t.” She took a step forward, hesitated, then finished her approach with a series of swift, decisive strides. Standing in front of him, she reached out, her hand grazing his cheek. “We promised no secrets. You were honoring that when you told me. I didn’t understand that this was _scaring_ you,” she said, stroking his face. “But I do, now.”

A younger, more foolish version of himself would have protested against being called scared, but Hank leaned into her palm, taking comfort in her touch. He put his hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze as he held it to his face. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Dawn frowned. “Why do you think something would happen to me?”

Hank sucked his lips against his teeth. “I think you were there, too, in that vision. But something was wrong. It felt like you were…fading. I know that makes me sound like another stupid, macho boyfriend,” he said hurriedly. “But I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if…!”

He couldn’t finish the rest. Dawn didn’t need him to. She bent down and pressed a long kiss to his brow. When she drew back, she smiled softly and said:

“Let’s think this through together.” She took a seat beside him on the bed. “Tell me what you know.”

He did, from the fire and the feeling of desperation to the bellowed words to which they had no ready definition. Finally serious about it, Dawn had no answers to give; it stymied her as much as him.

“This isn’t the kind of case we’re good at,” she murmured at last.

“No,” Hank agreed. Mysticism had never sat well with him. He pulled a tight, grateful smile. “But thanks for trying anyway.”

Dawn patted his leg and returned her own loving look. Then she made a cautious suggestion: “A few more resources might be helpful.”

Hank sat up, shocked straight. “Don’t you dare go to Dick with this! I’ll never live that shit down.”

Dawn warded off his ire with a wave. “It doesn’t have to be Dick. But if it’s…otherworldly in nature, Rachel or Kory might have some ideas.”

He drew a long breath; that sounded reasonable. “Yeah, okay.” He flashed her another warning glare. “But not Boy Wonder.”

Having exhausted all available avenues of investigation, at least for the time being, they lapsed into a more relaxed mode, with walks around the floor and some breaks for sustenance. Dawn was a sweetheart to stay, considering all the work waiting for her at home, but Hank was grateful to have her. The hours passed more quickly when shared; he even forgot for a little while that they weren’t at home and that she’d have to leave him again soon.

They said goodnight in the relative privacy of his room, with the last ten minutes of visiting hours spent just kissing and cuddling instead of exchanging goodbyes because the hands of the clock on the wall seemed to race toward nine every time Hank glanced its way.

“Don’t obsess,” Dawn whispered.

“Can’t help it,” Hank muttered. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. “I want to be with you again.”

“You will be soon. Get some rest so you can come home with me tomorrow.” She finished with another light smack of their lips and started up. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a snicker.

After she was gone, he lay back in the bed. He tried to watch some video, but nothing held his interest long enough to keep him from switching channels, and the only thing he had to read was a two-month-old copy of Sports Illustrated he’d already gone through cover to cover. Even the Bette Kane photo spread made him feel restless.

He went for another lap around the floor that turned into four, wishing for all the world the hospital had a treadmill he could use at this hour, or a weight bench, or even one of those low-impact stress test stationary bikes. Something to occupy him besides walking in circles.

The clock above the nurses’ station said 11:54. He returned to his room, where he decided to empty his bladder and just lie the fuck down for the rest of the night.

Standing over the toilet with his dick in his hand, watching the flow of his piss, his mind went back to that place in his head that he knew wasn’t just in his head. His skin suddenly felt itchy, and he scratched at the side of his neck with his free hand. A strange staticky energy tickled the hairs in his nose, too, and he rubbed his face with the back of his wrist.

“Fuck,” he complained to no one as he cleaned up, tucked, flushed, and turned to the sink. That was when he noticed a faint blue glow at the edge of his vision, and a high, almost ghostlike voice said:

“Hello, Henry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to diverge into my own AU here, which follows part-TV Titans and part-comics continuity. I hope you'll stick with me through the coming chaos. :)
> 
> Side note: THANK YOU to everyone who has bothered to click in to this story. Special thanks to Montage80 and ElieKing, for your comments and support! They mean the world to me.


	4. Quoth the Raven

“Jesus!” Hank said, swallowing his cry at the last second so that it wouldn’t bring any nurses running. He glared at the shimmering blue image of the slender young woman hovering cross-legged in the middle of his hospital room. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Rachel.”

The spectral girl blinked at him, then said, “My soul-self is an astral projection. It can’t exactly knock on the door.” She tipped her chin down. “But I’m sorry to have startled you.”

Despite the outward eeriness of Rachel’s astral-projected self, the company offered him some welcome calm. “It’s fine.” He finished washing his hands, gave his face a splash of cold water for good measure, and turned back to her with a lopsided smile, still dripping water from his chin. “How you doing, kiddo? Dick treating you okay?”

Rachel bobbed her head. “Richard is a competent and thorough teacher. He says hello, by the way.”

“That’s nice,” Hank muttered from behind his towel. “You can tell him to go fuck himself from me.”

Rachel’s voice hummed. “He is not the enemy you perceive him to be. The missteps of his past weigh heavily on him. I’m certain you can relate.”

Hank let that one go. “Yeah.” He replaced the towel and stepped toward the bed, being careful to move around her spectral image even though it didn’t make a difference. “And everybody else? Gar? Kory?”

“Garfield is working hard on his training, as well. And Koriand’r is…Koriand’r.” Her image followed him, turning in the air as if on a lazy Susan. She cocked her head. “But I did not send my soul-self all the way from San Francisco to engage in small talk. Neither one of us is particularly good at it. As I recall, you mostly hate it.”

He chuckled. “Mostly.”

She tilted her head the opposite way, and her pale brow furrowed. “Dawn said you had an experience. My father’s name was mentioned.”

Hank swallowed, understanding in his gut the power of Trigon’s name, especially over Rachel. He’d been there, too, and so left it unspoken.

“I’m not sure what it was,” he said, letting his attention stray across the room. “All I know is that it didn’t feel like any other dream I’ve ever had. I mean, I dream about pretty normal stuff!”

“What do you consider ‘normal stuff’?” she repeated, her gaze intent and curious.

Hank opened his hands in a helpless shrug. “Sports. Sex. Forgetting my high school locker combination. Regular shit, you know?”

“I do not.”

Her straightforwardness came like a harsh slap. While he hadn’t had an overly charmed existence growing up, his sufferings couldn’t compare to the experiences of a girl sired by an extra-dimensional demon hellbent on enslaving or, barring that, destroying the galaxy.

Guilt tugged his chin to his chest. “Right.”

“You were saying,” Rachel nudged, seemingly undaunted. “About this not being like other dreams you’ve had.”

“Right,” Hank repeated, spurred to more confidence. “It was more than that. And different from the last time somebody got into my head.”

“Can you describe it for me?”

He held in a breath, in an attempt to sort the jumbling thoughts into words. It wasn’t easy; the sensations, while powerful, were maddeningly vague. Finally, he said, “There was fire. A lot of it, all around. And I was in the middle of it.”

“You were burning?”

“No.” He grimaced into a backtrack. “Maybe. It was more like I was part of some giant…volcano…thing.”

She hummed again, a sound of thoughtful composure that was very different from his memories of her when they’d first met. A girl in terror was a heartbreaking and horrible thing, but he wondered if her joy had been too great a price to pay for control of her unearthly powers.

“The astral plane tends not to be so volatile,” she said, interrupting his straying thoughts. Her dark eyes focused on him. “At least in my experience. Was anyone there with you?”

“I don’t remember seeing anybody. But…!” He trailed off, shaking his head and scowling at his lacking descriptive abilities.

Rachel waited a minute in silence. “But you sensed someone,” she said, not as a guess.

Hank looked straight at her, which was almost like looking straight through her since she was there only as much as a ghost would be. “I could swear that Dawn was there, too. Just out of reach. And… _dying_.” His voice croaked around the word as he forced it out.

Rachel’s body stayed quiet and composed, but Hank thought he saw her brows twitch around the red jewel-like mark in her forehead. “I can understand why that would upset you.” Then the cool composure returned, and she asked, “Do you remember anything else?”

He dropped his gaze from her dark, soul-searching eyes and rubbed his hand over his own. “Just a voice.”

“What did it say?”

He braced himself for it, then repeated the foreign syllables that had been whistling in his head for more than a day: “Tear-a-taya.”

He looked up again at Rachel, who remained unfazed. “That phrase is unfamiliar to me.”

Dawn had said basically the same thing. But: “It was more than just the words,” Hank told her, in an effort to clarify. “It was the _sound_. Like something in pain. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Rachel nodded, silent and thoughtful once more. “It is not part of any of my memories,” she said at last. “And I don’t recall it from any shared from my father. An absolute dispelling of doubts of his influence would require a laying-on of hands.” She hesitated. “I could teleport to you, but there is some danger—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank said, waving his fingers in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting anyway.” He smiled in dismissal. “You’ve done enough, Rachel. Thanks.”

He expected her to blink out or whatever would happen when her astral self popped back to her body, but her form stayed hovering in the air in front of him.

“Henry,” she said. “My not having a ready answer doesn’t diminish your experience. You felt something and heard something for which you have no other reference, and which you believe is worthy of investigation. It may not be my father behind this, but I believe you when you say it was more than just a dream.”

While it was true that she didn’t bring him any closer to an answer, her support made him smile with genuine gratitude.

“Thanks,” he said again.

“Of course. You are my friend.”

That simple sentiment shouldn’t have caused his throat to hitch, but Hank found he couldn’t make a reply for an awkward lump of emotion that suddenly lodged itself there. Instead, he nodded and closed his eyes; damn this dry, recycled air, making them tear.

“Let me meditate on the subject,” Rachel continued. “Perhaps a clue will make itself known.”

Hank just kept nodding, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“I need my soul-self to return soon,” she said. “Will you be all right? Henry?”

“Yeah,” he got out. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He raised his head and looked at her. “But hey,” he said, in as conversational a tone as he could manage. “Can you do me another favor? Can you call me Hank, like you used to? My mom called me Henry,” he explained.

Rachel hovered there, her large eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. “Does the name summon uncomfortable memories?” she asked, but Hank shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…she was the only one to use it.” He chuckled, recalling how that shouted name would follow him up to the roof or along the street and invariably lead the way for a flurry of frustrations and suitable punishments. “Usually when she was mad, but…!” He had no words for the rest and settled for squinting over at her. “You understand?”

Rachel continued her silent staring. After a long minute, the curious glaze in her eyes cleared. She bowed her head and said, “I do.”

He smiled.

She did, too, just a bit, before becoming stoic once more. “I need to return to my body, now. I will let you know if I learn anything new.” She raised her petite hand in a gesture of farewell. “Be well. Hank.”

He raised his hand the same and said, “You, too,” but she was gone before he finished.

Hank glanced to the clock on the wall. Almost the witching hour. Fitting for a visit from a witch.

He lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to his mother, and his brother, and the days they had died. Where would he be now if things had been different? If his mom hadn’t gotten sick; if Don hadn’t been hit by that car? Would Hank have become a more disciplined man, like his mom had wanted, graduated from college and found a good job, a good woman, had a couple of good kids? Would his brother have been a part of that life, a studious, successful professional offering sage advice in-between bouts of boyish humor? Would they have still become Hawk and Dove? And what about Dawn? Without Don’s death, would she be just a passing encounter on the street? Or would they have never met at all?

His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep muddied by jumbled images of his past and what could have been. To his relief, Dawn always played a part. Don, a little less so.

The part of his brain that stayed aware while he slept – the one that used to rouse him when he’d get dazed or knocked out from a tackle or a fight – knew that these chaotic offshoots of his imagination were likely caused by his conversation with Rachel. It also knew that asking for her help had been the right thing to do. Because Rachel was a friend, and she would help if she could. Just like Don had always done. And just like Dawn always did.

That phrase – _Tear-a-taya_ – flitted into his subconscious again, as if carried on a pair of wings. Though, he couldn’t tell if those dream-wings belonged to a hawk, a dove, or a raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel/Raven turned out to be a lot of fun to write. I'm using a mix of her TV and classic comics speech patterns, if it feels unfamiliar. I like TV!Rachel's humanity but I also really enjoy Comics!Raven's aloofness. I tried to do a likable balance between those here. Let me know if it worked for you, or if it didn't.


	5. When Fates Collide

He’d only been away for three days, but for Hank, returning to the familiar comfort of home had felt like taking a dip in the Fountain of Youth. Once they’d gotten back to the modern farmhouse near the western border, they’d had a cozy dinner of Sichuan takeout, followed by a warm, spicy cider enjoyed on the porch in the nippy evening air. Then bed – that wonderfully wide bed raised high to give his hip a break during his recuperation – and the smell and tickle of Dawn’s hair as she’d snuggled up beside him. The strange phrase that had haunted him for the past two nights as he’d drifted into unconsciousness had come again, though even that didn’t prevent him from feeling refreshed, inspired, and ready to meet anything this morning…so long as that ‘anything’ didn’t require kicking, jumping, squatting, thrusting, or walking speeds above five miles an hour.

He padded into the kitchen in a pair of faded jogger bottoms that doubled as pajamas, stifled a yawn, and went over to the main counter. Half-folded there was a note torn from the grocery list pad and written in Dawn’s smooth, even hand: _Ran to bakery. Make coffee?_

Hank smiled to himself, scratched the back of his neck, and started the process for the morning brew. After a few minutes, beneath the perking of the percolator he heard the distinctive _tump-tump-tump_ of Dawn’s boots up the steps of the front porch. Then the swing of the door, the jangle of keys, and the soothing lilt of her voice:

“Morning!” She came to his side, one hand holding a paper bag, and rose on her toes to tap a kiss to his cheek.

Hank put an arm around her, to keep her close for another quick kiss. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You were very cute,” she replied with a smirk, “drooling onto your pillow.”

He accepted her teasing with a smile. “All part of my plan.”

She drifted out from under his arm and got a platter, onto which she laid the half-dozen flakey scones from the paper bag. He hummed and snatched one up, taking a giant crumbly bite that ballooned his cheek just to make her giggle. She did, making him grin in return. He passed her the second half and she took it, albeit with a more delicate bite.

Dawn hummed as she munched. “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

Hank swallowed down the scone and turned around, to start pouring the coffees. “Haven’t a clue.”

“When you went all the way into Alexandria,” she said from behind him, “just to bring me scones for breakfast.” Then she put her arms around him in a loose embrace and laid her head against his back, the same as she’d done on that far-off day.

She had never been the type of woman to need a man, or to fall headlong into one’s arms. But while they’d tried for a long time to keep things platonic, their Hawk and Dove partnership had always been as much personal as professional, and both Hank and Dawn had found themselves drawn to each other, inescapably. After a street gang takedown, they’d sat on the roof at the old apartment building, looking out over the twinkling cityscape, with their masks set aside and passing a beer back and forth. He’d turned to her, only to find her watching him. For a minute, they’d just stared at each other. Then they’d kissed, and in his bed, they’d made love, every stroke and every sigh bursting with a sense that this was how it should have been all along. In the morning, he’d tiptoed out and driven over to the Virginia bakery where he knew they made traditional scones, and when he’d come back to the apartment, she’d just gotten up, a little mussed and a little bleary-eyed but still glorious wearing her welcoming smile and one of his old college t-shirts. He’d stammered something banal and started to make them some coffee, and she’d come and put her arms around him, laying her head between his shoulders. At the time, Hank hadn’t wanted the moment to end.

Now, he turned in Dawn’s embrace, grateful for all of the moments to have come after that one. “That was a good day,” he said.

She grinned up at him. “Do you remember what we did the rest of that day?”

He did, and bowed his head for a low, self-conscious chortle. “It’s going to be a while before I can do a lot of that again.”

“That’s OK.” Dawn pressed herself against him, slipping her hands under the waist of his joggers and riding the curve of his buttocks. “Just let me have this a moment.”

He broke into more embarrassed chuckling that she silenced with her lips, then gave her a little flexing clench that caused her to giggle equally in reply. Though, that was cut short, too, by the interrupting buzz of one of their phones.

“Is that yours?” Hank asked as he pulled up. “Or mine?”

“Yours,” Dawn told him.

“I should get it.”

“Seriously?”

“It could be the doc,” he offered with a shrug. Leaving her embrace frustrated his interest, too, though it rebounded with another thought. “Or maybe it’s my new therapist!” He was almost at the counter where the phone continued to buzz but paused to point a finger at Dawn. “Five bucks says she’s hot and totally into me.”

“What if it’s a man?”

“Then he’ll be hot and totally into me.”

Dawn snickered. “Your modesty’s impressive.”

“I can’t help it if I’m amazing.” Hank looked down at the buzzing phone. It wasn’t a new number; the caller identification HAIR flashed up at him from the screen. With a slight sense of disappointment over this not being a sexy new physiotherapist, he picked up the phone, swiped it open, and put it to his ear. “Hey, Kory.”

“ _What the hell do you think you’re doing_?!” blasted through the phone’s tiny speaker.

Hank yanked the phone from his head, grimacing and squinting against her hollering. On the other side of the kitchen, Dawn stared, the progress of her scone halted to her mouth in a comical display that would have made him laugh if not for the ringing in his ears. He returned the phone to proper listening distance, hoped for the best, and tried again. “Hi to you, too,” he said, though Kory kept going at a dizzying speed and splintering volume.

“How dare you get Rachel involved in your little side mission! Do you have any idea the kind of trauma she has been through? How are we supposed to trust you as a role model for these kids when you force them into dangerous situations without our knowledge?”

Hank frowned. Role model? “Hang on a second,” he said into the phone. “I didn’t force anybody to do anything. Rachel’s a big girl! She’s more than capable of making her own decisions.” He looked for confirmation from Dawn, who nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

Kory couldn’t see that, though, and responded hotly: “She sent out her soul-self!”

“She does that all the time! And, it was nice to see her,” Hank said. Kory’s voice fell into silence at the other end, leaving him to ramble on. “She looks good. Healthy. And happy, I guess. You know. It’s hard to tell with a goth.”

Kory’s hum traveled across the distance. “She said you looked good, too.”

Hank smiled to himself. “Of course, she did.”

“So,” Kory said, suddenly conversational. “Are you walking around, yet?”

“On my own two feet.”

“And Dawn?”

“She’s walking, too.”

“Funny,” Kory said, though she didn’t sound amused. Hank heard her draw a breath to start a new topic. “Well, I didn’t call just to bust your balls over Rachel.”

“You don’t say.”

“I thought you should know. I looked into your mystery, too.”

That perked him up. “You find anything?”

“No,” Kory said, and Hank inwardly deflated. “No references in any Tamaranean etymology, mythology, or literary archives. Are you sure you didn’t mis-hear it?”

Hank pulled a face at the phone. “Once, maybe. But it’s happened three times, now, and every time, it’s exactly the same words: _Tear-a-taya_.” He rolled his eyes for Dawn, but the only response she gave him was a stare. _What?_ he mouthed at her, when Kory spoke again.

“Huh. Maybe we should ask Donna. She’ll be back from Themiscyra in a few days.”

“You’ll see her before I will,” Hank muttered, following Dawn with his eyes as she brushed past him in a fluid but rapid stomp toward the front porch.

Kory regained his focus with a snicker. “Well, if you two came out of your woods once in a while…!”

“Mountains,” Hank told her with a sideways smile. “Not woods. Which you’d know if you ever bothered to visit.”

“The kids keep us busy,” Kory replied. “Which you’d know, if you and Dawn ever bothered to visit us. But I understand,” she was quick to amend. “You humans have short lifespans. Lots to get done before you die.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Just remember,” Kory said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Don’t stick your dick into places it doesn’t belong.”

“Is that general life advice, or…?”

Kory’s voice went quiet, serious. “Keep your wings in the closet for now.”

“Actually, my wings are in a trunk in the crawlspace. But I’m not going to run off or do anything stupid.” He swallowed for the words. “I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” Kory said. “I’ll blast you myself before I let that happen.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Kory snickered over the line. “Sit tight. Look after your woman. We’ll be in touch.” Then she hung up.

“Right,” Hank muttered at the phone. “My woman.” He let his hand fall to his side and looked toward the front of the house, to where Dawn had clomped off and from where she still hadn’t returned. Blowing a horsey breath that ballooned his cheeks, he set his phone aside, lowered his head, and walked out after her.

She was standing at the edge of the porch, the mountain breeze causing her long hair to billow around her shoulders. But gently, as if she were floating on the wind. She had her back turned but Hank had no doubt she knew he was there; he saw her body go tense on his first step outside.

“Hey,” he said to announce himself. He took a slow step toward her. “You want to tell me what I did to piss you off, so I can apologize, and we can move on?”

Dawn spun on her toes, straight-backed and precise, full of former-ballerina poise. “What happened to us not keeping secrets?”

To an outsider, her voice would have sounded steady, but Hank recognized the portent of those extra-sharp and sibilant consonants. His tailbone seemed to tuck itself in of its own accord, and he dipped his chin and looked at her from beneath creased brows. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously enough to rival Kory’s when Kory went all nuclear about stuff. “So, you kept me in the dark?”

“You’re the one who said it was probably all in my imagination to begin with!”

“And then I said we would work it through together. Which means you and me, Hank,” she said, swinging her finger back and forth between them. “Both of us. All-in, all the time. Not just when you feel like it.” She paused for a huffy glare, then said, “When were you going to tell me about the other times?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said, when she rolled her eyes in a whirl. “Look, it’s been a crazy couple of days! And, I admit, a part of me didn’t want to tell you it had happened again because that would mean I’d have to think about it, too. Think about maybe being crazy, or under somebody else’s control, or losing…everything, all over again.”

Dawn didn’t move, and Hank didn’t, either. He knew from experience not to push her. If she were to come to him, or welcome him in, she’d have to be the one to do it. But he did say:

“I’m sorry.”

After a long moment, her shoulders drooped from their former straight line. “It’s OK.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”

“I get it.” She pulled her lips into a tight smile. “Though, it would have been nice if you’d told me before you told _Kory_.”

Hank pinched in his own smirk. This time, he did chance a step toward her. “You know Kory doesn’t hold a candle to you.” He took another step. “Even though she is hot, and ballsy, and a princess. And hot.” He snickered for one more step that put him in swinging range. “Did I mention hot?”

“You mentioned.” Dawn shook her head, releasing a short, snorting laugh that he was close enough to feel. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” He dipped his head and reached for her hand. “But I love you,” he murmured. “More than anything.”

She bumped her forehead under his nose like a nuzzling mare. “I love you, too.”

Hank rubbed her fingers. “I don’t want to fight over this. It’s stupid.”

Dawn raised her face to his and cupped his cheek. “Then talk to me,” she said. “Tell me about the other times.”

He drew a long breath that filled his chest, then let it go between his lips. “Second time was the night Rachel came by,” he said. “After she left, I was lying there, trying to get some sleep, when I heard it.”

“So, you were still awake?”

Hank pulled a face. “No. I mean, not exactly. It always seems to happen when I’m in this kind of in-between place. Not awake, but not asleep, either.”

Dawn thought a moment. “Like being under anesthetic?”

“Yeah.” While he hesitated to bring up the alternative, he did…though, not without some shame. “Or, like being high.”

Her frown prompted a sudden and anxious clutching in his chest.

“But I wasn’t! I swear, Dawn, I haven’t touched any of that shit!”

She pursed her lips for a shushing noise and laid her hand on his arm. “I believe you. But it’s an odd coincidence.” Her touch turned to a rub, and she smiled, albeit not quite enough to totally reassure him. “What about the third time? When did that happen?”

He inhaled another big breath, looked straight at her, and said, “Last night.”

Dawn’s eyes grew wide. “Last night? You mean, in our bed?”

Hank nodded.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“It didn’t even wake me up!” he said, jabbing at his own chest. “I told you: It hits when I can’t do anything about it. Like it needs for me to be not in control.”

Dawn considered that, her brow wrinkling pensively. “Did you tell Rachel about that part?”

Hank swung his head. “Rachel didn’t think it was her dad. And Kory couldn’t find anything in her archives. She said we should ask Donna.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?”

Dawn shrugged her shoulder. “Maybe it’s more ancient than alien. In that case, Donna’s got the most experience and the best contacts of any of us.”

“Great.” He sighed his frustration to the mountains in the distance. “Why is this happening to me? I mean, what have I got that anything ancient or alien or whatever would even want?”

A teasing smile pulled at one side of her mouth. “A big, strong, handsome stallion like you? I can think of a few reasons.”

Hank grunted. “Mars needs men!” he said in a guttural voice, before breaking into a short laugh that released a lot of the tension he’d been feeling since he’d stepped onto the porch.

Dawn slid her arms around his neck and hummed. “Not my man,” she said, rising up so their faces moved close. “If anyone or anything wants to get to you, they’re going to have to come through me, first.”

He drew her into a loose embrace. “I like it when you get possessive,” he said, and tilted his head for a kiss that she returned.

“You’ve rubbed off on me,” Dawn said, then narrowed her eyes at his about-to-snicker expression. “You were going to say something dirty just now. Weren’t you?”

“No,” Hank told her with a brief swing of his head. “I _thought_ it…! But I know better than to _say_ it.”

“Uh huh.” Dawn used her no-nonsense tone, the one that signaled that this level of banter was over. She took hold of his hand, to lead him back toward the door. “Come on, Einstein. I don’t know about you, but I need another scone if we’re going to think this through.”

He followed her into the house, where they did talk over coffee and biscuits, though not much more about the puzzle of that strange phrase; without a reliable lead, any research would be rudderless. Instead, their attentions turned across the duration of the day to more mundane and immediate concerns, like bills, chores, and other adult responsibilities. Adult joys, too: making dinner together, indulging in homemade cookies for dessert, and watching an old movie that they let run out to the menu screen because during the third act their lazy cuddling had turned to a more enthusiastic make-out session, which itself culminated in a fantastic bit of fingering.

Afterward, Hank propped his head on his fist and regarded her with a grin. “That was a lot of praying,” he teased.

While Dawn had her eyes closed and was still faintly panting, her cheeks glowed rosy with delight. One hand came up between them, and with it she stroked at his face while blowing a shushing breath.

He kissed at her fingertips when they paused against his mouth. “Want me to go down on you?” he mumbled against her skin.

She smiled up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to.” He moved her hand out of the way and kissed her lips. “But I want to.”

She held him close for another kiss, this one warm and humming. He let her do it, at the same time shifting his weight in preparation for a backward crawl.

“I want to see if I can make you cry out my name like that,” he said, when a sharp realization shot through him, straightening his spine and freezing the air in his lungs so that his next words came out a croak. “Oh, my God.”

Dawn’s eyes snapped open. “Hank?” Her own voice came out strained, and she shook him. “Hank, what is it?”

The hairs on his arms rose up, and he felt his nipples go hard under his shirt. He looked down at her, her face and hair so bright in the dimness it was like they gave off their own light. It set off another, different light in his head.

“ _Tear-a-taya_ ,” he wheezed. “I think it’s a name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've raised the story rating from T to M. While it pains me to potentially lose readers due to the higher threshold rating, feedback suggested it was a prudent move to make.
> 
> As always, many thanks to all readers and special thanks to those who let me know they're enjoying the story! I hope you decide to stick around for more. :)


	6. Half a Prayer, Half a Song

A name. The syllables that had been flitting around in his subconscious for the better part of a week, since the day of his surgery, were a _name_. Hank was sure of it. He had no proof, no substantial reason to support the idea, but it _felt_ right to him, in his gut. And Hank Hall knew when to trust his gut.

He sat at the table desk in the corner of what the realtor had sold them as the dining room but that he and Dawn had decided was more useful as a workstation, scratching his pen across a piece of paper already cluttered with letters. He’d been scribbling variations of the syllable sounds for the last half-hour, trying to decide which one might be the proper spelling. Whether proper was the case, he didn’t know, but he liked the way one particular arrangement of letters flowed together on the page. They looked pretty, and they had a pleasing, almost familiar sing-song cadence when he said it under his breath.

“Terataya,” he mumbled, trying it out as if in conversation. He sat up, straightening his diaphragm, and tried again in a lower register. “Terataya.” He dropped his chin close to his chest and growled deep in his throat, like how he imagined Gar might say it if Gar could talk in tiger-form. “Terataya.”

From the front of the house, Dawn called, “Hello?”

Hank flicked the pen from his fingers and pushed himself from the desk. “Hey!” He stood up, gave a little stretch, and headed toward the door.

Dawn was already halfway inside, arms laden with three of their shopping bags. Despite the burden, she smiled. “How’d your session go?”

He gave her two thumbs-up. “I’m up to double weights,” he said before reaching for the bags in her left hand.

She shot him a dubious look. “Mariella said that’s OK?”

Hank shrugged. His home-visit physical therapist, Mariella, was a woman of fit middle age who wore her bouncy afro in two giant puffballs on either side of her head, and who alternated between perky butterfly and brutal drill sergeant. “She told me I shouldn’t push it.” In fact, the therapist had shaken her head, chuckled, and said, _Usually, I’ve got to tell patients to keep going, but you, I got to tell to pull back_.

“That’s good advice,” Dawn told him with the sweetness of a peck on the cheek.

“But I like pushing.” It was the same thing he’d said to Mariella, though this time he pulled a mock-sullen face for some sympathy.

Dawn bit, if only just. “I know you do, babe. But it’s better to take it easy at this stage.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hank laid the bags on the island and set himself to the task of unpacking the various vegetables and proteins that would constitute their meals for the coming week. Though, his mind kept straying back to that weird name.

Why had it called to him? And whose was it? The syllables had the delicate quality of a woman’s name. Was she in trouble? Was he supposed to help? If so, how? He wasn’t a Titan anymore; it had been over a year since he’d donned his suit and wings, and even then he’d done it only to make sure he hadn’t put on too much weight sucking on hard candies all the time during the early months of post-rehab.

“Hank?”

He looked up in what must have seemed a daze of preoccupation, because Dawn was giving him a stare across the kitchen island. “Sorry! Did you say something?”

Her expression softened, and she let out a tiny sigh through her nose. “You’re still on that mystery name, aren’t you?”

He kept his mouth tight. “Maybe.”

She put a hand on her hip. “You promised you’d try your best not to obsess over this.”

“And I’m not!” he said, crossing his hands over each other in a stopping gesture. “Much.”

“Hank!”

“I need to be _doing_ stuff. But right now, I can’t run, I can’t work, I can’t even go for a drive!” he said, swinging his arm out toward the car parked at the side of the house. He let his arm fall and blew out a cleansing breath. “I know it’s pointless—”

“I never said that.”

“—but having something to focus on while I’m cooped up in here is keeping me from going bonkers.”

“Well, we definitely don’t want that.” Dawn came around the island and took him in a fiercely protective hug. “How can I help?”

He pushed back from her with a smile. “Can I show you something I’ve been working on?”

She gave him a wide-eyed, receptive look. “Sure.”

His heart fluttered into a soar, and he grabbed her hand, dragging her out of the kitchen and over to the desk by the large windows. He pulled the page of scribblings toward them and explained, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to spell her name.”

Dawn looked up at him from beneath peaking brows. “Her? How do you know it’s a woman’s name?”

Hank shrugged. “It just feels that way.” He returned his attention to the page. “What do you think?”

She studied the paper a moment. “I don’t think it really matters how it’s spelled.” She pointed to his final attempt. “But I like that one.”

Another rush of proud feeling flooded his chest, and he grinned. “Me, too.” He looked again at the letters in their favored combination. “It’s pretty. Like, a song.” He said it in a rhythmic way, though not quite singing it because that would have been embarrassing. “Terataya.”

“Like Dulcinea,” Dawn said.

The word tickled his brain, and Hank scrunched his nose. “Where is that from?”

“Don Quixote.” Her eyes flicked up to him again. “The Man of La Mancha.”

“Right!” Hank said, snapping his fingers. “My brother was in that musical, in high school.”

“Really?” she said, and smiled, an invitation to elaborate.

“Yeah. Played that soundtrack over, and over, and over again, until he knew all the words. By the end, I could sing most of it!”

She laughed. “I bet he loved that.”

“Not really,” Hank said, sobering with the memory of Donny standing in the main room of the apartment, his voice cracking and his face wet with a teenager’s melodramatic tears. “I was being a dick about it, saying I should go out for the part, too, get up on stage with all the arty girls. He told me I couldn’t do that, that it wouldn’t be fair. That I was already popular because I had football, and couldn’t I just give him that one thing, that one chance to shine.” He drifted off there, feeling like a shit. Usually, remembering his brother brought a sense of having been loved, the way that only two misfit boys who shared a mom and a last name could love each other. But not when he remembered Donny sad or frustrated or angry, even though those memories didn’t come very often.

“What happened?” Dawn asked, snapping him from his thoughts. “Did you do it?”

Hank blew a quick scoff. “Of course not! I’d have had rehearsals and all that right in the middle of the season. But it was something else to watch him up there on that stage,” he said, smiling into the past. “Standing in a spotlight, singing his heart out…! He was made for so much better things than me.”

They were quiet a minute. Then Dawn’s hand touched his arm, and she said:

“You still miss him.”

Hank blinked away his sudden sentimentality. “Every day.”

“You know,” Dawn said, “it’s funny.” An odd thing to say, until she clarified: “My mom used to play that record, too.”

He smiled; it was a pretty thought that they might have been linked long before that terrible chance meeting on B Street, by something so simple as a record. “Yeah?”

She let out a gentle laugh. “She’d sing the words, and I’d dance around her, doing little _arabesques_ in this ragged old tutu I wore night and day for most of a year.”

He laughed, too, imagining a tiny girl, her platinum blonde hair done in ribbons, twirling and jumping around her mom. “I bet you were cute, doing that.”

“I was adorable,” Dawn replied with one of her elfin grins. She put her hands to his face and made a moue with her lips. “Though, not as adorable as little Hank Hall, star of the pee wee football team, with his chubby cheeks and poofy hair.”

“My hair was never poofy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Donny was the one with poofy hair.” He settled his hands around her waist. “And don’t change the subject. We were talking about darling do-gooder Dawnie, not bad-mouthed troublemaker me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Nobody ever called me ‘Dawnie.’ If they had, I’d have broken their arm.”

He blew an appreciative whistle. “Oo. The dove shows her claws.” He brought their hips together in a shimmy. “Tell me more.”

Dawn chuckled and patted his cheek. “Maybe after we finish putting the groceries away.”

As she stepped out of his reach, he called after her, “Why do you have to be so responsible all the time?”

“One of us has to be,” she called back without turning around.

“Ouch,” Hank muttered, then went after her into the kitchen to give her a hand.

Regular movement was crucial to his physical recovery, and they needed to do routine tours of the property anyway, checking environment cameras and alert beacons. The success of their wildlife habitat certification depended on it. Plus, walking the grounds was a nice way to spend the time. So, after they’d finished the indoor chores, they shrugged on light jackets and shoes and hoofed it around the perimeter.

There was plenty to do, and Dawn remarked more than once how much nicer it was to do this together. While she’d been able to handle the habitat tasks alone for the few days that he’d been in the hospital, working as a team made it a lot more enjoyable, less labor than a kind of relaxed adventure.

“And here I thought you were the kind of woman who doesn’t need a big, strong man,” he teased as he realigned the Swainson’s Hawks’ nest cam because some critter had thought its support pole a chew-toy.

“I don’t _need_ a big, strong man,” Dawn said, holding the base of the pole to keep it from shifting too much against his force. “That doesn’t mean I don’t _like_ having one around.”

They stepped away from the pole and gave it a tandem once-over. Finding their work sufficient, they started to walk in the general direction of the house. Three steps in, Dawn wound her hands around his arm and said:

“Especially one who’s good at cutting through my grant-speak.”

Hank smiled down at her. “That sounds like a paperwork request.”

“I just want you to take a look at my funding proposal. The one for the youth outreach exploration days program? It’s due next week, and I’m worried it’s too academic.”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant,” he said. Everything she did was brilliant, thoughtful, ordered…if a little wordy, at times.

“It’s good,” she allowed. “But you know how to keep those kinds of things simple.”

“You mean lowbrow.”

“I mean unpretentious. Nobody’s going to read it if it’s too abstract.” She hugged herself to his arm and batted her lashes. “Please?”

He kept looking at her as they walked, wondering a moment if little-girl-Dawn had used this same tactic on her mom, and if it had worked. Because it definitely worked on him. He couldn’t give in without some kind of compromise, though.

“If I can get out of the after-dinner drying,” he said.

“Done.” She laid her head on his arm, comfortably. “Thank you.”

So it went: after dinner, Dawn set to on the dishes while Hank opened up the laptop and read through her draft, striking elaborate phrases and rewording some of the highfalutin jargon so popular in these proposals. Between re-reads, his focus strayed to the paper with his scrawled attempts at spelling the Terataya name. He said it again in his head, and – again – was reminded of that old song.

He tilted his ear to the kitchen. A plate clattered in the drying rack, followed by another. Hank opened up a search window and started a frantic typing, glancing toward the passage between dining room and kitchen in case Dawn came through before he was ready.

It took a few minutes, and he was still in the process of shifting the table to the back of the sofa when she walked in, a scolding shout on her lips.

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be moving furniture!”

“It’s fine,” he told her with a wave of his hand. “I was careful.” He shook his foot. “See? Not a twinge. All good.”

Groaning, Dawn put a hand to her head. “What am I going to do with you?” she muttered.

Hank held out his hand. “Dance,” he said.

She looked up, eyes wide and surprised. “What?”

Keeping one foot in place, he leaned back to the table and tapped the laptop keyboard. Through its limited speakers wafted the first bars and operatic lyrics of “Dulcinea.”

“Dance with me,” Hank said, reaching out to her again.

Dawn broke into light laughter. But then, with a glowing smile, she stepped forward with confident poise and took his hand. They swayed together to the music’s time through the first refrain. On the second verse, she pulled away to the length of his arm, keeping her hand clasped to his, and did a graceful twirl on pointed toes. She turned under his arm and came close again for another simple _pas de deux_ , one hand still in his and the other against his chest. The music quickened, and she pulled away again with a grin, to perform a series of swift little circling kicks in the air as she spun around him. The music and singing devolved, and she ended with a laughing tumble into his arms.

Hank hugged her and laughed along, giddy with joy. “That was amazing!”

Dawn brushed at her hair, flown loose from its ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed pink, though she gave no indication of any exertion. “I’m sure my form was pretty sloppy.”

“It was beautiful,” he said, wishing he could spin her in the air. “I wish I had a big bouquet of roses to show you how much.”

Her laughter subsided, but her smile stayed wide and beaming. “I don’t need roses,” she said, and stretched on her toes to meet his lips with hers. They kissed, once simply and once more with deeper affection. An abrupt buzzing kept them from a third.

“That’s your phone,” Dawn said.

Hank shrugged. “I’ll get it later.”

She raised her brows. “Are you sure? It could be about your mystery woman.”

He snickered. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in,” he said, and held her close for a silent and easy sway. There was no music accompaniment this time, but Dawn danced with him, and drew him down for another kiss. In the background, the phone buzzed until it didn’t. And the two of them kept dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating bump seemed to lose me some readers. Oh, well. I'll continue the story on its path. But if there is something you would like to see - maybe in a different story? - let me know! I can write for myself, but that's not nearly as much fun as sharing the joy of a story with others. :)
> 
> Happy reading!


	7. Me, You, and Something New

The axe whistled in its swing, hit with a sharp _thunk_ , and lodged itself halfway in the wood. He lifted the axe with the wood attached, then let it fall to the chopping block. Another harsh but satisfying splintering sound accompanied the log scattering in two, and Hank grinned.

“Don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit thick?”

He looked over at Dawn, who stood watching him from safe distance on the porch, a mug of steaming tea in her hands.

“What can I say?” He lifted his safety goggles and offered her a jaunty shrug. “I love impressing a pretty girl.”

Dawn threw him back a smirk. “Somehow, I don’t think she’ll swoon over Paul Bunyan.”

He let the axe hang down at his side. “What’s wrong with ol’ Paul?”

“There’s nothing wrong with ol’ Paul. But she lives with Robin Hood! That’s way more romantic than a lumberjack.”

Hank snorted and considered his options. “We could get an ox.”

“No,” Dawn said firmly.

“What if I don’t dye it blue?”

She held up her hand. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

The argument became moot when a midsize sport utility vehicle bearing evidence of some serious cross-country traveling crunched up the drive from the main road. By the time Dawn walked down from the porch and Hank sheathed the axe, the car had rolled to an easy stop. The driver’s door opened, and a man with shaggy red hair and sunglasses stepped out from behind the wheel with a wave, his look and movements full of blithe confidence. Hank could admit to no small envy of Roy Harper, but all the same, that didn’t stop him from feeling a rush of near-brotherly love whenever Roy returned to his admittedly small circle of male friends.

“Hey!” Dawn called out, her smile shining through in her voice.

“Hey,” Roy called back, and jerked a thumb toward the back seat. “Let me get the whirlwind.”

Hank settled the axe on the ground and moved toward the car. “You want a hand?”

Roy shot him a jaunty look over the top of his sunglasses. “You think you can handle her?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Hank said. Even as Dawn murmured a low, “ _Easy,_ ” Roy opened the door behind the driver’s seat, and Hank heard a high-pitched squeal followed by a joyous cry:

“ _Huck_!”

Peering around the door, he saw little Lian struggling against her car seat like a bobcat in a buckle-up romper. She’d grown since the last time he’d seen her – more than a year ago, when he’d been released from inpatient rehab back in California – but she was still small enough to tuck under one arm…assuming she could stay still long enough for him to do that.

“Hey, kiddo!” Hank crooned. He unclipped the safety belt keeping her in the seat, and she pushed herself free of it and the retracting straps with surprising dexterity. She didn’t hop from the car, just snapped her arms around his neck hard enough to make a clap. Hank hugged her back, carefully, and squeezed his eyes shut around an abrupt spring of tears. “It’s so good to see you.”

Lian giggled and pushed herself away, her round face bright with a grin. “You smell like the park!”

Hank laughed. “I’ll take that.”

“Do I get a hug, too?” Dawn’s voice was gentle behind them.

Lian squirmed her way around Hank and bounced over to Dawn, grabbing her in another boisterous hug around the waist.

Dawn let out a little “oof” of air and wrapped an arm around her. “We’re so glad you could visit.”

Lian tilted her head, her ponytail dangling nearly to her waist. “Daddy said you have lots of wild animals. Can I see them?”

“We’ll have to take a walk to do that. And I can’t promise you’ll see any.” Dawn smiled. “But there’s a pretty good chance. Would you like to do that?”

“I have to pee first,” Lian declared.

“OK,” Dawn said with a chuckle. She glanced over at Roy but took Lian’s hand. “Come on; I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Then we’ll go for that walk?”

“Yeah!” Lian said, hopping along beside Dawn like an excited squirrel.

Hank watched them from the side of the car, more in love than he’d thought he could be with the sight of Dawn holding Lian’s hand as she led the little girl into the house. Dawn in particular looked so natural doing so, that he daydreamed a moment a different kid walking beside her, maybe one with light blonde hair and wearing a worn-out tutu or an oversized jersey—

“I’ve got to say, man: you look good.”

Hank turned his head to Roy, who’d taken off his driving shades and was giving him his dry smile. “Thanks,” he said, closing the car door with a gentle shove. “So do you.”

Roy squinted his eyes. “Did you get bigger?” He scratched his smooth jaw in an obvious show of comparison. “Or is that just the mountain man effect?”

“It’s testosterone.” Hank cupped his own rough-stubbled cheek. “You probably haven’t shaved in three days, while I shaved this morning.”

“Fuck you,” Roy said around a good-natured laugh.

Hank laughed, too. “Fuck you back, man.” Then he clapped both arms around Roy in a rough, squeezing hug that took him back to being part of a team. “God damn!” he said as he straightened up again. “You smell like a desk jockey.”

Roy wagged a finger in the air. “We call that, _eau de parent responsable_. It’s an exclusive scent, expensive and life-changing.”

“I’ll bet.” Hank gave him a light punch in the arm. “How have you been?”

“Keeping busy.” Roy lifted his chin toward the house. “The kid makes sure of that.”

Hank followed his look with a swing his head. “It’s wild to think she’s…what? Almost five?”

“Almost,” Roy confirmed, somewhat wistfully.

The door came open and Lian burst out and ran toward them, catching Roy around the leg hard enough to make him reset his footing.

“Daddy, can we see the animals, now?”

Roy let out a playful groan. “You don’t give Daddy a break, do you?”

“No,” Lian said confidently. “You promised!”

“OK, OK.” Roy looked up again at Hank. “Is that all right?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. I could use the steps.”

Dawn came down from the house, too, two travel mugs in her hands. She extended one to Roy. “Fresh coffee?”

“Oh!” Roy said, taking the mug with a smooth ladykiller smile. “You’re an angel.”

Dawn chuckled, passed the second mug to Hank, and nodded toward Lian. “Do you mind if I take Lian ahead? I’ve been looking forward to some girl-time with your little lady.”

Roy looked down at Lian, too. “You want to walk with Miss Dawn a while?”

Lian clutched his hand. “You’ll come, too?”

“Of course!”

Lian’s gaze snapped to Hank. “Huck?”

Hank nodded for her. “Absolutely,” he said, and Lian grinned and hopped away from her dad and over to Dawn, taking her hand once again.

As the girls walked ahead, with Dawn talking about sanctuary raptors in her gentle instructive voice, Roy leaned close to mutter, “She can call you Hank, if you want.”

“Huck’s fine.” Hank tucked the safety goggles into the collar of his shirt and gave a quick shake of his head. “Better than a lot of the other names I got over the years.”

Roy let out a laugh. “Remember that time you met us in the park, and she started shouting, ‘Huck and Duff! Huck and Duff!’”

Hank snorted laughter; he’d forgotten about _Duff_. “Dawn and I were freaking out because we thought somebody’d recognize us. And you were like, ‘This is Seattle. Nobody fucking knows you East Coast guys out here!’”

“West is best,” Roy said, earning himself another light punch in the arm. “Ow.”

“I might live here, now,” Hank told him with a note of playful warning, “but I’m an East Coast boy through and through. Don’t you forget it.”

Roy made a show of rubbing his arm. He was silent for a few dozen steps, then asked, “How are things going for you out here?”

“Good.” Hank nodded ahead toward Dawn, who was directing Lian’s attention toward one of the scanner towers used for tracking tagged wildlife. “We’ve got some habitat grants coming in, and I’m thinking about wildlife rehabilitation.”

“Like a vet?” Roy sounded surprised.

“More like first response. Trapping, tagging, releasing. That sort of thing.” Hank shrugged. “But it’s a lot of training hours, and Dawn wants me to get to at least the two-year mark before committing to any kind of extra stress.”

Roy hummed and sipped at his coffee as they walked, the autumn ground crunching under their feet. “Speaking of,” he said, and looked over at Hank. “You going to meetings?”

“The local one’s pretty church-y,” Hank muttered, “which isn’t really my thing. But there’s one in the city I’ve been to a few times; they’re OK. Usually, I just use the computer or my phone.”

Roy nodded approvingly, then craned his head to be seen in Hank’s vision. “You can always call me. You know that, right?”

Hank sent him a weary smile. “You’re not my sponsor, Roy.”

“No,” Roy admitted. “But I know where you’re coming from, what you’ve been through. And I know about the extra-curricular shit that comes with wearing a mask and hanging around with metas.”

“Oh,” Hank said, resuming his stride with a snort. “Now, I get it. You didn’t come just to hang out. You’re here to check up on me.”

Roy replied with an innocent shrug. “I came to see Dawn, too.”

“Come on, man! When you called the other night, you could have at least been straight with me. Who put you up to this? Was it Donna? Because she can fly her half-Amazon ass over here and face me herself. She owes me a phone call, at least.”

“It wasn’t Donna,” Roy said as if trying to protect their friend. He glanced to his feet, muttering, “Dick asked me to swing by.”

“Oh, fuck that guy!” Hank said, stomping away.

Roy picked up his pace. “He’s just concerned. You suffered some kind of telepathic attack—”

“I didn’t suffer anything. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Then why’d you get Kory involved? And _Raven_ ,” Roy said, putting the emphasis on Rachel’s hood-and-cloak alias. “Jesus, you know how paranoid he gets about protecting her.”

“Rachel _wanted_ to help—”

“So does Dick. So do I!”

“Except that it didn’t happen to Dick, and it didn’t happen to you. It happened to me,” Hank said, jabbing himself in the chest. “Now, I don’t know who this woman is or how I’m supposed to help her, but I am. Going. To help her. I’m not going to fuck things up again. I can’t.” He swallowed hard, his voice fraying at the edges. “This is my last chance to do something good, to make up for everything else.”

Roy stood there blinking at him for almost a minute. Then he sighed, shook his head, and said, “You know that’s not true.”

His rage dissipated as quickly as it had risen, leaving Hank to slump, too. “Isn’t it? How can you say that, after all the pain I caused?”

“I can say it,” Roy told him, “because I’ve been there. I fucked up friendships, and relationships, and my livelihood and career. I almost died at the end of a needle. But then I got help,” he said, with the same concerted honesty that every sponsor and mentor Hank had ever known had used. “And I got better. And I found I still had friends, and people who loved me and that I could love back. And a little girl! A whole life I didn’t think I could have even before I started using.” He stood up to his full height, his chin held steady. “That’s how I know I’m right.”

Hank smiled ruefully. “That’s easy for you to say. You were Speedy. That’s, like, one step away from being Batman’s sidekick.”

“And you were Hawk! You were nobody’s sidekick!” Roy grasped his wrist. “More importantly, you’re _Hank_. You have Dawn, and me, and Donna. And, yeah, you’ve got Dick, too, no matter how much the two of you butt heads over girls and tactics. You butt-heads,” he added as an epithet. He relaxed his grip on Hank’s wrist. “You don’t need a case to prove your worth to anybody. You’ve done a lot more good than you think.”

Hank rubbed his lips over his teeth. “Did Dick really ask you to come out here?”

“Make sure the big bird’s OK.” Roy let go and held up his hand for an honor salute. “I swear, that’s what he said. And, that you two are always welcome back at the Tower.”

Hank sighed. “No. I can’t go running back to Robin every time I’ve got a problem.”

“Nightwing,” Roy corrected.

“Whatever,” Hank said, even though he knew that.

Roy clapped him on the back, which started them walking again. “Look, I get it. You want to show people you can stand on your own, take the hits when they come. Like the old days. But it’s not the old days anymore.” He swung close on his next step to give a conspirator’s mutter. “And let’s face it: you’re not getting any younger.”

That made Hank blow an amused snort. “What are you talking about? You’re older than I am! And you’ve got a kid!”

“Which means I’ve done my duty. You and Dawn need to catch up!” Roy gave a quick double-snap of his fingers. When Hank didn’t bite, he needled again. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Hank bumped his shoulder. “We’ve thought about it; sure.”

“So? What are you waiting for? Hit that,” Roy commanded, and directed a finger toward Dawn, who was far ahead at the edge of the perimeter by this time, a willowy form in the afternoon sun standing at the bottom of the mountain with Lian at her side. “I am _lonely_ in this Dads’ Club.”

Hank had started to laugh, a stupidly embarrassed overflow of silly emotion in stark contrast to their seriousness of only a few minutes ago. But it felt good to laugh with Roy. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Dawn says she’s ready, but…!”

“But what? You’re not? Because if that’s the case, let me tell you: Nobody’s ever ready.” Roy snorted. “Christ, you think I was ready?”

“It was different for you,” Hank allowed.

“No shit,” Roy said, but left it at that, with good reason. While Hank didn’t know all of the sordid details, he did know that Lian’s mom, a career killer mercenary, had basically left Lian on Roy’s doorstep one night, like a kitten in a basket.

Hank hunted for some words that wouldn’t make him sound like a judgmental asshole. “What I mean is, you’ve always been…spontaneous.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from Mister Mayhem himself.”

“That’s just it,” Hank said. “My life’s always been a chaotic mess. I’m used to it. But Dawn likes…order,” he said, the word almost like a curse on his tongue.

Roy just laughed. “Yet, she loves you.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank said, chuckling out the side of his mouth. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

They walked in silence again for several steps. Then Roy once again waved close on a stride, for another low murmur.

“This case of yours?” He swung his head back and forth. “Don’t let it distract you from what you’ve already got. I know what it’s like to be on that edge of things, so close you can taste it. Hell! I still carry a duffel full of arrowheads in the car, under the spare tire. But do you know the last time I took it out?” He paused and fixed Hank with a steady stare, then said, “When I had to switch the spare.”

Hank met Roy’s firm but compassionate look. Before he could make reply, Lian let out a short shriek of either fear or delight. They both turned her way as she came running up to them, her cheeks flushed and her big eyes bright with excitement. Definitely delight.

“Daddy!” she said, snatching at Roy’s hand. “Daddy, come see! There’s a mountain lion!”

“A mountain lion?” Roy repeated in amazement as he allowed Lian to drag him along.

Her mountain lion was in reality a bobcat that had come sniffing along the perimeter; the sensor alerts had picked up a few similar instances over the last several weeks. A sign of the animals’ boldness out here in the relative wild, and that Dawn explained to Lian as indicative of the delicate balance between creatures both great and small, of which they needed to count themselves. Lian absorbed the lesson like an eager little sponge, asking questions in a hushed voice as she kept her stare on the elusive bobcat all through its retreat and for many minutes after. When she’d accepted it wouldn’t be back any time soon, she begged for more sights. Even for an adult, the vast stretch of grounds was a lot to walk, but Lian did another mile. She left the rest to Roy, who carried her on his shoulders for the trek back to the house.

In the glow of the setting sun, they had a simple finger food and skewer supper on the porch, after which Lian climbed onto the bench swing with a book from her traveling collection. When Hank mentioned he recognized it – “My mom used to read that book to me and my brother,” he told Lian – she promptly pushed it into his hands and asked him to read it aloud while she looked over his arm at the pages.

She dozed off after about twenty minutes, her head a soft weight upon his bicep. Hank closed the book and looked over to where Roy was watching them with an amused smile.

“Is your arm asleep, yet?” Roy teased.

“No, it’s fine,” Hank whispered. “But I don’t want to wake her.”

Roy waved him off. “You could brush her teeth for her; she wouldn’t wake up.” He stood, stretched, and crossed to them, lifting Lian into his arms with the knowing, practiced care of a parent. Hank remembered – vaguely – his mom lifting Donny up the same way.

“Come on, princess,” Roy said, though all Lian did was sprawl limply in his arms.

“She is so adorable,” Dawn said, chuckling softly and as gently as a twilight breeze.

Hank agreed. “You’re a lucky man, my friend.”

Roy snickered. “I like to think of it as more genetics and upbringing than luck.” He shifted Lian’s weight, tucking her into a cuddle to his chest. “I think I might hit the hay, too. We’ve got a long day of driving tomorrow.” He smiled. “Thanks for letting us stay.”

“Anytime,” Dawn told him, rising from the porch railing.

“See you in the morning,” Roy said with a nod.

“Night,” Hank replied, unfurling his fingers for a wave as Roy carried Lian into the house. He picked up the book and was about to follow when Dawn eased onto the bench swing beside him.

She put her hands around his elbow. “Is it weird,” she murmured, “that I was totally turned on by seeing you with Lian today?”

Hank grinned. “Only if it’s weird that I feel the same way about you.”

Dawn giggled, twitched her nose, and kissed him. Hank slipped his arm from her hands and put it around her shoulders, inviting her to lean against him. She did, circling her arms around him and laying her head upon his chest, a familiar feeling that never failed to fill him with a sense of safety, calm, and love.

“What did you and Roy talk about?” she asked. “The case?”

“Not really. Mostly, we talked about kids.”

Dawn raised her head. “Oh, yeah?” she asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” Hank chuckled for her mischievous tone. “He wants us to catch up.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” She shimmied against him until their faces were close again. “Are you up for it?” Her hand slipped between them, and she pushed her lips together into one of her sassy, sexy _ooh_ s. “You are!”

“OK.” Hank turned his head, to hide his sudden embarrassed grin. “We shouldn’t do that right now.”

Dawn snickered but kindly shifted her hand away. “You’re so much more proper with a little kid around.” Her tone was teasing but her gaze was warm. “It’s sweet. I like it.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, holding there to murmur, “I like you.”

He softened his smile to be more serious. “I’d like a little kid like Lian,” he admitted. “No guarantee ours would be like her, though.”

“No,” Dawn agreed, then rebounded with her usual quick, assuring confidence. “Ours will be like you, and like me, and something new in-between.” She tilted her head, almost coquettish. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see what that would be.”

“Pretty,” he guessed, looking into her wide, dark eyes.

“Strong,” she said, stroking his arm.

“Smart.”

“Funny.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sophisticated.”

“Outspoken,” she countered, playing along.

“Faithful.”

“Steadfast.”

He trailed his fingertips along her cheek, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Serene.”

“Fiery,” she whispered, though she said it with such intensity that it ignited within him a sudden roaring passion that he hooked his hand behind her head and crushed their mouths together for one, two, three powerful kisses. When they finally came apart, Dawn was gasping. Hank feared a moment he’d done too much, pressed too far or too fast, when she smiled, touched his lips with her fingers, and said:

“There’s my man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lian is a part of Roy's life. I accept no arguments about that, no matter what DC, canon, or continuity says. And this is pre-New 52 Roy Harper, with his failures and foibles but still a solid guy. I know I'm taking a lot of liberties to create my Titans timeline, but it's my story. If folks don't like it, they are welcome to write their own.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is still with me! Special thanks to a_specforest for the new Kudos. If you're a reader and you enjoyed this chapter - or any chapter - please let me know! The support of readers is what keeps me going.


	8. The Hale and Heartbroken

Hank pushed the button for his window, sending it down, then up, then down again.

“Babe, please.” Dawn’s voice wasn’t sharp, but it did carry some annoyance. “I know you’re bored, but that’s not helping.”

Slumped in his seat, Hank flung his attention to the driver’s side. His glance found the speedometer, which hovered perfectly at 30, the recommended speed for this zone, and he sniffed. “You could have let me drive.”

Dawn stayed looking ahead, even though this last stretch of road before the house had little but the odd thrust of tree branch as distraction. “Dr. Alawi said at least two more weeks before you should get behind the wheel,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone.

He sneered. “Yeah, well, she also said mine is the fastest and most flawless recovery she’s seen in twenty-two years of orthopaedic practice. So there.”

“We all know you’re an example of peak human conditioning.”

“Damn right!”

“For a man your age.”

“Ha ha ha,” Hank said.

“Look on the bright side.” Dawn’s tone turned magnanimous. “That was our last hospital visit, hopefully for a long while.”

“Yes!” In lieu of punching the air, he stretched his arms above and behind his head, though no farther than the ceiling, where his elbows caused temporary grooves in the fabric. “No more bandages, no more stitches, no more having to take it easy. I can work out, I can run – sort of. And, I’m fucking _sober_!” He grunted through his lower teeth and flexed his arms like a preening bodybuilder. “Hank the Tank is in the _house_!”

Dawn laughed merrily. “OK, Tank. What are you going to do first?”

“Something I haven’t been able to do for weeks,” he said, and laid out for her the plan he’d had in his head since that morning. “I’m going to make myself a tall green smoothie, run a hot bath to the top of the tub, and soak in that bad boy until my ass prunes.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Hank leaned toward her with a suggestive leer. “You want to join me?”

She hummed and shot him one of her elfin smiles. “Will you give me some of your smoothie?”

He produced a growl from his chest that sent his voice deep. “I will give you whatever you want,” he said, and this time they laughed together.

He was about to slide his hand onto her thigh – they were almost at the house – when Dawn’s expression went slack. Hank followed the line of her gaze and sat up straight, his nerve endings suddenly sparking. At the base of the steps to the porch sat a slender, dark-haired woman. She rose up in a confident glide as they approached the house, her feet spreading into a ready fighting stance.

Dawn turned off the engine and cranked the parking brake. “Hank,” she warned.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he said as he stepped from the car. He tilted his head from one side to the other; the left gave a satisfying crack. “I’ve got this.”

The black-haired beauty tossed him a smirk. “What’s the matter, cowboy? Are you going to make me wait all day?”

“Hank!” Dawn said again, but he’d already pushed off into his run.

He dashed straight ahead, arms pumping and feet running fast. So fast! And no pain, no limitation of movement. Like being a kid again on the 50-yard line, full of power and speed. He grinned, clenched a fist, and threw it forward.

The air gave a poof as his target jumped from the porch. He followed her twisting arc high over his head and braced himself for another charge as soon as she landed.

She hit the ground on the soles of her boots, barely going to a knee. He went for her fast again, one arm cocked back. She popped up and he swung, his right whiffing through her hair as she jerked to the side. A low left jab caught her in the ribs, and she woofed a grunt.

She spun her shoulders down and her boot came up in a kick that would have cracked his jaw but for a split-second, swinging duck out of the way. She came up out of her spin, her forearm going right for his head. While he managed a block, it felt like a sledgehammer hit him. Even as he went crashing to the dirt, Hank didn’t lose his grin. This was why Donna Troy had always been and would always be the greatest non-romantic love affair of his life.

Dawn walked past both of them, muttering, “I don’t know why you two always have to greet each other with a fight.”

“Not fight,” Hank corrected. “Spar.” He flashed Donna a satisfied snicker. “Still got it, right?”

Standing above him, Donna twitched her shoulder. “Eh. Not bad.”

He pushed himself to sitting with a look of disbelief. “Whaddayamean, not bad?”

“I’d have seen that charge coming with both eyes shut.” She offered her hand, where Hank slapped his palm. Donna hauled him up with almost no effort, as if he were the beauty and she the beast. He still stood over her, though, an advantage he used to take her into a crushing squeeze with both arms.

Donna let out a tiny grunt. “Not so tight, big guy.”

“I know you can take it,” Hank murmured; she was strong enough to break him in half if she wanted, with the resilience to match. Nevertheless, he let her go and took a step back.

She scrutinized him a moment. “Are you bigger since the last time I saw you?”

He grinned. “Only where it counts.”

Donna just rolled her eyes. “Well,” she said, with a tone that changed the subject, “I flew my half-Amazon ass over here, like you wanted.”

Hank pulled a face. “Ooh. Harper told you I said that, huh?”

“He sure did.” She relented with another half-shrug. “That’s all right. I needed to see you anyway.”

She became abruptly serious; no more playful smirking or jaunty postures. A racing coldness straightened his spine, too, and made his jaw clench. “You know something.”

Donna tilted her head to the house. “We should go inside.” She went to take his arm.

He drew it free and eased away from her. “You can tell me here,” he growled, when he felt Dawn come to his side.

She laid her hand on his bicep; this time, he didn’t pull away. “I’m sure Donna’s had a long day of traveling,” she said in her soft, cooing Dove voice, the one that always used to settle his spiking emotions and still did. “I can make us some fresh coffee, or tea?” Her pitch went up in a prodding question.

Donna smiled warmly; Dawn had that effect on a lot of people. “I’d love a coffee, thanks.”

They walked into the house, Hank bringing up the rear while Dawn and Donna exchanged banal pleasantries. Dawn moved into the kitchen and started coffee prep, and Donna took a seat at the island. Moving around to the other side, Hank made an attempt at apology.

“Sorry we don’t have anything stronger. But, you know….”

“That’s OK.” Donna shined her smile his way. “After drinking nothing but herbal tea and kykeon for six weeks, coffee may as well be Kentucky bourbon.”

Dawn came over to the island, too, bringing with her an invisible wave of earnest camaraderie as well as mugs for her and Donna. “Did you have a good retreat?”

“Themyscira’s the ideal place for meditation,” Donna said, and took a sip of coffee. “But otherwise it’s not very stimulating.”

Hank had heard her talk about the hidden archipelago home of the Amazons before. Boring was the adjective that usually came to mind about it, though he never said so to Donna. “So, did you just come to shoot the shit?” he asked, still standing. “Or, what?”

Dawn shot him a reproving look, and Hank shrugged in reply. Donna was the only one to speak.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she said.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.”

“Hank,” Dawn groaned.

“What?”

“You don’t need to turn this into a confrontation.”

“What’s wrong with confrontation?” he said. “I like confrontation. It gets things done.” He turned to Donna. “I’m happy to see you, D, and if the only reason you came here was to throw some punches with me, I’m down with that. But if there’s something more going on, I want you to tell me now. I’m not a kid; I don’t need to sit down; I can handle it.”

Dawn sighed and looked at Donna as if ready to apologize on his behalf. But Donna closed her eyes, preempted Dawn with a wave of her hand, then looked up at Hank.

“You were right,” Donna said in a dispassionate voice. “Terataya is a name. That was key. Once we had that piece, it was easier to start looking.”

Hank found himself sitting, without having registered doing so. This confirmation seemed to suck the strength from his limbs, so he had to grasp the edge of the island just to hold himself steady. He moved his tongue around in his mouth to make enough spit to speak. Even so, his voice came out a croak. “What did you find?”

Donna opened her mouth, closed it, and hesitated. Before Hank could press her, though, she said, “It’s…complicated.”

“She's in trouble, right? We help people in trouble.” He leaned across the table. “Well, what can we do? How do we find her?”

Donna only opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. Dawn had glided into the seat beside him, and she reached out, placing her hand on his. “Slow down, huh?”

He turned to her. “She needs our help, Dawn. I know she does. That voice…!” he said, his focus going glassy around a sudden spring of worried tears. “You didn’t hear that voice, crying her name in such… _pain_ …!”

Dawn’s compassion fairly glowed off her face, and she laid her palm to his cheek.

“Hank.”

It was Donna’s voice, and Hank looked her way. Concern showed in her eyes, too, and the wrinkling of her brow beneath her hair.

“You can’t help her,” Donna said, enunciating in sharp, precise clips.

“The hell I can’t.” He started to push himself to his feet, his head swimming with a riot of thoughts – he’d get Rachel, Kory, or, hell, he’d ask Roy to dust off the duffel of arrowheads sitting in the trunk of his car – when Donna cut through it all with two words.

“She’s dead.”

An icy chill like a corpse’s hand clenched at his insides. He slipped down into his seat again, the strength of his muscles once more failing. “No,” he said with a weak judder of his head, even while he knew it was true.

“Yes,” Donna said, holding his stare.

Dawn leaned in. “Are you sure?”

“What I found wasn’t much,” Donna said, but with the confidence of someone who knows they’re right. “Basically, a footnote to an old Mesopotamian text translated and recorded into the League archives, from years ago.”

“So, there could be a chance…?” Dawn asked, but Donna shook her head.

“No. She’s been dead for a while.”

“Then how did I hear her?” Hank felt his pulse start to pound. “ _Why_ did I hear her?”

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “But Diana has a friend. I think you should talk to her.”

Hank heard Donna’s voice, saw her painted nails on the island counter extend toward him. He’d been staring at his hands with their long fingers and hardened knuckles, thinking somewhat stupidly how they could catch even Wonder Girl in a punch on occasion. But what good had they been to the woman who’d needed his help? Who’d roared at him in the dark, in some desperate plea to save her?

“How did she die?” he asked, raising his head.

Donna pulled her lips together a moment. “Like I said, it’s complicated. I didn’t understand most of it myself, even after it was explained to me. But she was… She wasn’t human.”

Hank frowned. “So? Neither is Kory.”

“Kory’s just from a different planet,” Donna said, as though to clarify. “Terataya was part of something bigger. Something ancient. Metaphysical.”

“Like a god?” Dawn whispered.

“If she was a god, how’d she die?” Hank said, fighting to keep his tone from becoming demanding.

“She wasn’t a god.” Donna hedged a moment. “Not exactly.”

Hank cringed his brows together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Donna waved both hands at him. “Look, this is all way beyond my comfort level.” She reached across the counter and patted his knuckles. “I really think you should talk to this friend of Diana’s. She knows about this stuff. And, you’re in luck: she’s still in the city for the next few days. It’s a perfect opportunity before she moves on.”

“What are we supposed to say?” Dawn asked. “I mean, how do we explain any of this?”

“She already knows,” Donna told them. “About Terataya as well as about the Titans.”

Dawn lowered her head. “You mean, she knows you were Wonder Girl? And we were—”

“Hawk and Dove.” Donna nodded. “Yeah, she knows all that.”

“Jesus!” Hank snapped. “Why’d we ever bother putting on masks, if everybody and their fucking mother knows who we are?”

“Don’t worry. She’s very discrete. Listen, I’ve gotten you some time in her schedule and booked you a hotel room – on me – so you don’t have to be driving all night after you talk with her. Just…go and see her. She can help you a lot better than I can. Please?”

Donna let the request hang in the air. Dawn rubbed his fingers but said nothing, either. Finally, having weighed the options of talking with Donna’s contact or spending the rest of his life in the dark, Hank rubbed his hand over his head and muttered:

“Fuck.”

That night, after Donna had returned home and he and Dawn had settled into bed, Hank sat staring at the book of raptors propped against his legs. He hadn’t turned – hadn’t even really looked at – the page in front of him in at least the last fifteen minutes. He felt Dawn beside him, at first calm and supportive but as the moments passed her closeness creating an invisible pressure of growing anxiety.

“Hank?”

He pulled a noisy breath and turned to face her. “Yeah?”

“You want to talk about it?”

He flipped the book closed and blew out a sniff. “What’s to talk about?” He tossed the book to the bedside table. “Life sucks.”

Dawn sighed. “I know you wanted a different outcome from this—”

“I wanted to be able to save somebody again,” he told her, half sad and half angry at himself in the same moment. “I mean, Terataya called out to _me_ , for some reason. Me! One of the most reckless, disorderly fuck-ups who ever put on a mask and a pair of spandex pants.” He shook his head and chuckled, though it came out flat and grim. “She should have chosen Dick, or Donna, or you. Somebody who could have made a difference.”

“Hey,” she said, taking hold of his face. “You do make a difference. Do you hear me? You make a difference because you try. You keep getting up and you keep fighting. I’m betting she knew that, and that’s why you heard her when nobody else did.”

Hank chuckled again, this time with more humor. “You don’t need to stroke my ego so much. I know who I am, and who I was. I just wish we could have saved her, you know? That voice,” he said, grimacing against the memory of that scream, like a person on fire. “It was so scared. So _broken_.” He rubbed his cheek against her hand and closed his eyes, muttering, “It felt like losing you.”

Dawn’s forehead touched his, and he felt her breath close to his mouth. “You’re going to talk to Donna’s contact,” she whispered. “And she’s going to give you answers.” She kept her head bowed but slipped her hand to his chest, where she laid it over his heart. “And I’m going to be right there with you, the whole time.”

He pulled his lips into a stiff but grateful smile and opened his eyes, meeting hers. They were so close that her face blurred into a strange if beautiful wavy image surrounded by a halo-like effect from her pale blonde hair.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” he said.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. I’m here because I want to be. I want to be with you.”

He gave another low, sniffing chuckle. “I thought civvy life would be a lot easier, this time around.”

Dawn giggled, too. “Not with us. But that’s OK,” she said, lifting her head to press a kiss to his brow. “We’ll get through it together. Now, let’s get some sleep,” she said, a subtle signal to put this heavier conversation to rest.

Hank nodded and slipped down into the bed. Dawn came down next to him, on her side. When he looked at her, her features were clear and distinct again, and he felt a little bit foolish as he asked:

“Would you hold me? I always feel better when you hold me.”

She said nothing, just put both arms around him and drew his head to her chest, where he closed his eyes and breathed the powdery scent of her skin. He prayed there would be no roar tonight, and there wasn’t. Instead, as he drifted at last from the edge of only-just aware into the deep of true sleep, he heard something new: a mellow fluttering like butterfly wings on a breeze, and a delicate and soothing melodious sigh, and a smooth, benevolent voice that sounded so much like Dawn that he smiled in his sleep as it whispered, _My love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and that this chapter keeps your interest for the rest. There's not much left, just a few more bumps, before we reach The End. My goal is for you to feel how much fun I've had writing Hank, Dawn, and their strange group of friends new and old. And I have had a lot of fun.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you'll come back for next time. :)


	9. Magic Man

The marquee above the theater blazed bright against the autumn evening sky, drowning out the lights from the surrounding shops with its glare. “ _Last Night!_ ” declared a placard attached to the announcement board. A bold red “ _SOLD OUT_ ” sign was plastered beneath. And in the most commanding letters: “ _3 Nights Only:_ _ZATANNA! Mistress of Mystery and Magic!_ ”

The crowd of patrons chattered excitedly as the doors opened and the staff checked tickets. Stuck between a gaggle of women who giggled and teetered on their too-high heels and some boisterous men in loudly colorful suits, Hank shoved his fists deeper into his jacket pockets and lowered his head.

“This is Donna’s idea of discrete?” he muttered to Dawn out one side of his mouth.

“Give it a chance,” Dawn told him. “I trust Donna’s judgment, and you should, too.” She hugged his arm and smiled. “Besides, this could be fun!”

One of the flashy dudes pushed himself forward to peer around Hank’s shoulder. Green-haired and gregarious, he reminded Hank of Gar. “Is this your first time?”

“Yes!” Dawn said, before Hank could stop her.

Flashy grinned. “Oh, my God, you’ll _love_ Zatanna!” He patted the air and rolled his eyes like he was about to swoon. “She’s am- _ay_ -zing! I’ve seen her five times, and she’s _always_ a fantastic show. You folks are in for a special treat!”

“Thanks,” Hank said, forcing a fast smile. He jerked his arm to hustle Dawn before she got caught up into anymore conversations with a stranger.

They walked through a wall of dry, heated air into the lobby, an aging affair of patterned carpet and twin staircases that led to the balcony level. The crowd moved mostly to the doors of the auditorium’s main level, with a few pockets wandering to the restrooms and to gaze at the framed displays of the venue’s former glory. Ushers on either side of every entranceway directed ticket holders to their assigned seats.

While Dawn showed their tickets to the nearest attendant, Hank looked back over his shoulder. Years of being a street fighter had taught him to trust his instincts, and those instincts were telling him he was being watched. A sea of milling faces bobbed behind him, all of them interested in their own concerns. Save one: a blond man with a wicked look to him, who at Hank’s noticing ducked his chin into the shadow of his trench coat’s high collar.

The hairs on his arms prickled even under the warmth of his sweater and jacket. He was about to step for a confrontation when Dawn tugged at his sleeve.

“Earth to Hank?”

He blinked himself free of his paranoia. “Yeah?”

She peered up at him from under her thick lashes. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” he said again, and rubbed the nape of his neck. The motion sent a ripple of welcome heat down his arms, settling his nerves. He smiled. “Lead the way.”

The auditorium was swankier than the lobby, decked out in a more modern style. Rows of plush leather seats, set far enough apart on all sides to allow for safe health distancing, filled the parquet level; the box seats on the balcony sides looked even more upscale in their semi-private nooks. Hank glanced up at one box, for no particular reason, and stiffened when he saw the same blond man from the lobby step close to the edge. It was only to come around in front of his chair to sit down, which he did, though Hank could still see his head and shoulders even from his lower angle. The man didn’t acknowledge him, just sat there with a smile that felt sinful as he stared ahead at the curtained stage.

The theater’s overhead lights flashed twice. The audience’s rumble of mixed conversations fell into a hush, and a few stragglers hurried into their seats. Dawn touched his hand, and Hank smiled back at her as the lights went dim, then blacked out entirely. A man’s voice, amplified over the sound system, swung into performance mode:

“Ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin, we ask that you set aside your doubts, dispel your suspicions, and open yourself to all possibilities. For tonight, you will witness the miraculous. You will experience the otherworldly. And you will believe in the power of magic!”

Hank snorted.

“A round and warm welcome,” the announcer continued, “for your guide through the great unknown this evening: the mystical, the mysterious, the mesmerizing sorceress supreme, Zatanna!”

The audience offered polite applause as the main curtain rose to reveal a brightly lit starry-night backdrop emblazoned with a stylized letter Z. A spotlight pool sat waiting in the center of the stage. The crowd’s noise died down while onstage, the light waited some more. Then there was a pop, a poof of smoke, and there appeared in the pool of light a shapely brunette in high heels, fishnet stockings, a leotard with tails, and a tall magician’s top hat.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Hank found himself clapping, too, wondering how in the heck she’d done that. The curtains were too far away, and the smoke bomb hadn’t been thick, large, or lingered long enough for her to come from the floor….

“Thank you!” Zatanna said, removing her hat with a flourish for a long, low bow. She straightened up with the grace of a dancer, replacing the hat upon her head with a jaunty tap. “If that’s all I have to do to get your applause,” she announced with a wide and winsome smirk, “this is going to be an easy night.”

The audience laughed, and Zatanna started into her routine, a mixture of jokes and tricks orchestrated to keep the evening’s entertainment light and fast-paced. She was good, though, Hank had to admit. A little too good. Too slick, too predictable, like a criminal trying to cover up a deeper crime with one that was more obvious. When the show broke for a brief intermission and the audience moved into the lobby, Hank was about to express his skepticism to Dawn when a chill shot up his spine that shut him up.

Standing beside him, Dawn froze, too. “What’s wrong?” she murmured around a concession-stand chocolate caramel.

Hank’s sweeping glare across the lobby found the blond man again, hanging out against the banister of the balcony staircase. This time, the man’s stare locked onto him. He stayed on his side of the lobby, though, and only moved to make a smile.

Hank grabbed Dawn and did a quick turn, putting himself between her and the stranger. “Fuck!” he hissed.

“What is it?”

“That guy,” he said, tossing his head at his shoulder.

“What guy?”

“Blond guy, trench coat, over there by the staircase – Jesus, don’t look! He’s been eyeballing me all night.”

If Dawn was concerned by this news, she didn’t show it. “Well,” she said with a playful swing of her head, “you are an attractive man.”

“This isn’t funny,” Hank snapped. “There’s something off about him. I can feel it.” He looked around but the man had left his viewing post. Hank saw the tan coat and blond head moving along the balcony level before they disappeared into a box seat doorway.

The overhead lights flashed, and the motion of the crowd urged them toward the auditorium doors. Not before Dawn slipped her arm through his, though, and pulled them close together.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said.

Hank threw one more backward glance to their six, mumbling, “Just keep your eyes open.”

“Don’t worry,” Dawn said with a tug on his arm to grab his attention. “If anybody wants to get to you, they’re going to have to come through me, first.”

Her focused look and the twitch of a smile at the edge of her mouth unraveled the knot in his guts. “Is that how I sound,” he asked, “when I go all alpha male over you?”

She let her smile break free. “Pretty much. Except that you’re usually shoving somebody into a wall when you say it.” She hugged herself to his arm for a step. “Forget about Trench Coat Man. Zatanna’s the one we’re here to see. She’s the one who’s going to give us answers.”

“Yeah, OK,” he said, and walked by her side back to their seats for the second half of the show. It was more of the same, save for the final impressive illusion: a so-called death-defying water tank escape trick that culminated in Zatanna predictably wiggling free, supposedly in the nick of time. But as she sat atop the tank after her mystifying escape, basking in the applause, there was a loud crack. She shot a surprised look at the audience just before the tank’s glass walls shattered, flooding the stage and the first few rows of the audience with sparkling confetti. Again, the crowd roared with delighted laughter and applause.

“Well,” Zatanna announced from the center of her confetti pool, shaking one high-heeled foot. “I’ve certainly made a mess, haven’t I?” She winked out at the audience. “Maybe I can conjure a little help to clean it up? What do you think?”

At more cheering from the audience, Zatanna grinned.

“You heard ’em, boys!” she said, and snapped her fingers above her head. From the four corners of the theater ceiling descended a quartet of stone gargoyles, wings flapping impossibly against their weight. But fly they did, and settle on the stage, each of them taking hold of one of four self-swishing brooms that entered from the wings, like something out of a Disney movie.

The crowd went apeshit. Dawn was laughing and clapping beside him, and even Hank had to give the lady onstage her due in praising and amazed applause.

“That was fun!” Dawn gushed as they maneuvered their way in the maze of backstage corridors after the show. “I hope she’s as good with her intel as she is with her magic.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t _magic_.” Hank emphasized the word with a sneer. He glanced at door after door, but none of them were the right ones the backstage manager had directed them to. “I’d like to know how she did a lot of it, though. Especially those gargoyles!”

“And the brooms!” Dawn giggled, as bright-eyed and flushed as a kid. “They were so cute.”

They finally arrived at the right door. Hank made a fist above the sign – a sheet of white paper with ZATANNA written in big block letters and taped to the flat slab of the door – and rapped his knuckles under the name. “Maybe she’ll give us a hint.”

“And maybe she’ll turn you into a frog for asking,” Dawn teased.

“You’d still kiss me,” he said, as the door swung open in front of them.

The Mistress of Mystery and Magic looked a lot less mysterious and magical with her theatrical stage makeup wiped away and standing in a simple satin robe, without her top hat, tails, or heels. She was still hot, though, and her showwoman’s smile shone broad and genuine as she said, “Hello?”

Dawn stepped forward. “Ms. Zatanna?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Dawn Granger; this is Hank Hall. We’re friends of Donna Troy…?”

Zatanna’s blue eyes shimmered with recognition. “Diana’s sister. Of course!” She stepped to the side of the door, still graceful and precise, and made way for a welcoming wave. “Please, come in.”

Dawn started forward with polite thanks, but Hank paused.

“Just a sec,” he said, then whirled around. He threw out his hand, snatching at the shirt of the blond man in the trench coat, and slammed the stranger against the corridor wall. He heard Dawn gasp his name, but he just twisted his fist into the shirt and growled into the other man’s face, “Why are you tailing me, blondie?”

The stranger barely flinched. “Who says I’m interested in you, mate?” he said in a swinging English accent. Even with his shirt and tie bunching under his chin, he managed a slick smile. “Maybe I’m keen on the little lady.”

Hank gave another rough shove, sending the man a few inches up the wall. “You’d better fucking not be!”

“Hank!” Dawn repeated, insinuating her arm between him and the stranger. Beyond her, Zatanna’s voice wafted like a spiderweb drifting on the wind.

“It’s all right, Mister Hall. Despite his penchant for skulking, I assure you: John Constantine is a friend. I’d rather you didn’t pummel him into that wall, if only for the sake of my insurance premiums.”

Dawn pulled on his far shoulder. “It’s OK; let him go.”

The red flare of his hostility withered under Dawn’s forced calm, and Hank relaxed his twisting grip. He stepped back, letting the other man – Constantine – settle to his heels.

As Constantine shook himself off and straightened his shirt, Zatanna asked him, “What are you doing here, John?” She didn’t sound particularly concerned, just a little weary.

Constantine flashed another polished smile. “Rumblings in the aether,” he said, giving the word some extra reverence. “Your name was mentioned.” He twitched his nose like a snuffling wolf. “You know I couldn’t just let that go.”

Zatanna blew a little sigh. “Well, since you’re here, you may as well add your expertise.”

“I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me,” he said, then took both Hank and Dawn in a sweeping look and waved his hand toward Zatanna’s door. “After you.”

“No, please,” Hank said around an itching snarl. He made the same go-forth gesture with his hand. “Age before beauty.”

Constantine just laughed. “If you insist,” he said, and walked into Zatanna’s dressing room.

While Hank glared at the back of Constantine’s blond head, Dawn slipped her hand into his. “Remember,” she said. “We’re here for answers. Not a fight.”

“That guy’s asking for it,” Hank hissed through his teeth.

“I’ll make sure John behaves himself,” Zatanna told them, and smiled. “Sometimes, he even proves himself useful.” Then, she welcomed them inside once more.

Based on his perception from the corridor, the dressing room seemed a lot bigger once Hank stepped through the doorway. An antique-looking vanity with a tri-fold mirror took up most of the left-hand wall, while a sofa of equal width was pushed against the opposite. Against the wall between stood an old-fashioned wardrobe that reached nearly to the ceiling, and beside it stood a four-panel privacy screen painted with decorative dragons and plum blossoms. A large, ornate rug took up the floor between all of these, and on it sat a short wooden coffee table with two matching hideaway stools.

Zatanna directed Hank and Dawn to the sofa, while Constantine swept his coat behind him to claim one of the coffee table stools. Zatanna herself perched on the edge of the high-backed chair at the vanity. Then she crossed her legs, settled her hands on her lap, and looked at Hank.

“Diana’s sister gave me a general picture of what you experienced,” she said. “But I’d like to hear the story in your own words.”

Next to him, Dawn squeezed his hand. Hank looked at her, swallowed, and nodded to Zatanna. He told her then, in a somewhat disjointed mess, of hearing Terataya’s name bellowed across a burning ruin. How that grief-stricken voice had haunted him nearly every night since the first time, and how he’d felt the cry a call to save her, only to be told the truth of her death by Donna a few days ago.

When he was finished, he scooted forward on the sofa. “Who was she? And why did she call out to me?” He’d asked Zatanna, but it was Constantine who replied:

“She didn’t.”

Everyone looked to the blond man. The attention didn’t faze him. He just sat there, with his elbows on his knees and his brown gaze full of smug awareness.

“John,” Zatanna said. “How else would he know her name, if he didn’t hear her?”

“Her _name_ ,” Constantine repeated, as if speaking to a child. He snorted out a little scoff. “Who cries out _their own name_?”

Hank bristled at his arrogance. “You don’t know shit, asshole!”

Constantine pointed a finger at him. “I know the Hawk,” he declared with such critical judgment that it stiffened Hank’s spine, “is not connected to any former Lord of Order.” His gaze flicked to Hank as he blew another derisive snicker. “That’s right: this arsehole knows quite a bit of shit.” He became abruptly serious and turned back to Zatanna. “He’s an agent of Chaos, Zee. I’m surprised you didn’t see it from the start.”

Hank fumbled around a non-answer, feeling suddenly stupid in comparison to this man who projected enough confidence as to know everything. Beside him, Dawn only squeezed his hand again. Even Zatanna sat rigid and silent. Slowly, she turned from Constantine, gathered Hank in a wide-eyed look of comprehension, and whispered:

“T’Charr.”

The word shot through Hank’s guts like a bullet, sending him backward into the sofa with a gasp. His nerve endings went numb for a second. Then they were flooded with fire, and the air in his lungs felt like it was ready to explode. Dawn’s face filled his vision, but a darkness like a rushing tunnel formed around it. As he tried to reach for her, he seemed to fall away down that same dark shaft. And even though he saw her shout, her voice sounded indistinct and distant until it was nothing at all. And he fell into nothing without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zatanna's act gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I tried to have some fun with it, though, and I hope that comes through. Constantine, as well, has offered a different twist on characterization than we've seen so far. Again, I hope I've done him justice. As for Hank and Dawn, their rollercoaster ride has just about hit its final apex....
> 
> Thank you to all readers for sticking with the story so far. Special thanks to ShadeyBird1701 for joining the journey! If you've got thoughts on the story so far, consider dropping me a comment? I always like to learn what readers enjoy.


	10. Bad Kid

He was like flame, birthed into existence smoldering with rage and hungry for rebellion. He’d spent his life battling and brawling and crushing bones in his grip, his clenched fists ever eager to fight in the name of revolution. But then, he’d met her.

She was like snow. Intricate, delicate, calming, and cool. Full of deliberate grace and precision. She watched and listened and contemplated, her hands ever still. She _waited_!

He couldn’t wait.

He loved her from the start. Foolishly, ferociously, and – most surprisingly of all – not unrequited. And the more they loved, they learned: the strengths of each other and the weaknesses, too. She taught him patience; he taught her passion. She learned to dissent; he learned to discuss. Together, they made such plans…! For brave, brilliant, beautiful children to show and share the lessons of their love. But the grim spectre of death came before they were ready, announcing annihilation for them all.

He’d been born screaming, fighting, resisting. He’d die showing the same defiance. So, he did. And when it was done, with his final breath he cried out to his life, his love—

“Hank? Wake up. Please? Baby, please, wake up!”

As Dawn’s trembling voice pulled him toward consciousness, Hank tried to sit up. It didn’t go well. A wave of blackness threatened to overtake him again, leaving him with the limited strength only to groan.

Dawn’s fingers stroked his temple, and her sigh of relief blew cool over his forehead. Hank managed to open his eyes, finding her bent over him and upside-down. He was on the floor for some reason, with his head resting in her lap.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You had a seizure.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered with worry.

Any doubt or denial by him was cut off by Zatanna. “Of the psychic variety,” she clarified as she knelt into view. She didn’t seem very concerned, but asked, “Do you know your name? Where you are?”

“My name is Hank Hall,” he said wearily; he’d seen this routine at rehab. “It’s Saturday. I’m in your dressing room,” he told Zatanna.

She nodded. “Good.” She threw a quick glance at Constantine, who frowned as he lowered his hand. Hank could have sworn the man’s fingers had been glowing ….

Dawn brushed at his hair, murmuring, “You scared me.”

Hank made a wretched, repentant smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She helped him right himself against the sofa. “It was that name.”

Zatanna released her lips from their troubled pinch. “I’m sorry,” she said, this time disquieted, at least. “I had no idea saying his name would trigger your magical defenses.”

Hank looked up at her around a squint. “My what?”

Zatanna’s eyes went wide like a doe in headlights. “You don’t know?”

Hank stared back at her. “Know what?”

She threw a look to Constantine, who blew a quick snort and declared, “Somebody armed you with some very aggressive mystical safeguards, mate.” He humphed again and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was your Chaos-daddy.”

“T’Charr,” Hank muttered, and everyone stopped to look at him, as if fearing the name would send him tumbling into another psychic spasm. But it was strangely freeing to say. While the burning sensation in his chest was still there, it caused no pain. Instead, it filled him with a razor-sharp clarity.

“He was me.” He spoke to all of them but looked straight at Dawn. “I mean, I was him. Sort of. You know, like when you dream somebody else’s life?” He forced a swallow to make some spit. “I saw it. I _felt_ it.”

Dawn waited a moment before prodding, “Felt what?”

That lifetime of fire and passion and pain passed behind Hank’s eyes in a heartbeat, and, while clear, it was overwhelming. “Everything,” was all he could say.

That didn’t reassure Dawn, who furrowed her normally smooth brow. Zatanna broke the silence when she said in a soft but level voice:

“He was a Lord of Chaos.”

Dawn looked over at her. “You mentioned something like that before. What does it mean?”

“They were a bunch of cosmic bastards,” Constantine said, “who advocated all-out anarchy.”

Zatanna pulled her mouth tight at his less-than-impartial description, then let it go. “More or less. On the opposite side were the Lords of Order—”

“—A different but equal bunch of pricks who believed in keeping a stagnant status quo of downright antediluvian laws.”

“The two factions spent eons in conflict—” Zatanna began once more.

“—Until _your_ Lord of Chaos,” Constantine interjected again, with another of his nasty smirks that he directed straight at Hank, “committed a cardinal transgression in the eyes of the celestial court.”

“He fell in love,” Zatanna explained simply.

“With a Lord of ruddy _Order_!”

Dawn pulled a short, shallow gasp and swung her head to Hank. He nodded and told her, “Terataya.”

“So, the voice you heard was T’Charr’s,” she said, her eyes full of equal parts sadness and understanding. “Calling Terataya’s name?”

Hank nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Damned romantic, isn’t it?” Constantine said with a faint scoff.

Dawn shook her head. “But…how?”

Hank’s tongue felt thick, making his voice come out husky with dread. “He’s inside me.” He threw a glance to Zatanna and Constantine. “Isn’t he?”

The two shared a pregnant look, then Zatanna tipped her chin down and murmured, “A part of him, yes. We think so.”

Dawn let out a wheeze. “Can you get it out?”

“It’s a magical imbuement,” Zatanna said with a slow wag of her head. “You can’t just get a scalpel and remove it.”

Constantine blew another disdainful cough. “And why would you want to? That’s a little sliver of primordial Chaos you’ve got attached to your soul!”

“John, this is difficult for them,” Zatanna said tetchily, to which Constantine retorted:

“So, better they learn it now!”

They went back and forth like that another moment or two, but to Hank, both Zatanna’s explanations and Constantine’s sniggering sounded far away. He stared down at his hand, thinking about the strong fingers and calloused knuckles that never seemed to suffer long, no matter how many strikes they made. And the bullets, blades, and burns that should have left his skin mangled and scarred, but whose marks always seemed to fade away like half-remembered dreams after only a few days. Even the words of his doctor, who’d remarked with amazement less than a week ago how fast and how flawless his recovery from his surgery had been.

He raised his head. “How long?” The others fell silent, and he asked again. “How long has he been a part of me?”

Zatanna straightened in her seat. “The Lords were destroyed at the end of the last Age of Magic, a few years ago.”

“But I’d wager,” Constantine said, “that that little bit of T’Charr has been part of you your whole life.”

Hank felt his lungs deflate. “Bad kid,” he mumbled, glancing away.

Dawn bent close to his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He looked up again, this time at Zatanna; he could appreciate Constantine’s straightforwardness, but Zatanna had the lighter touch. “Why did I dream him after all this time, if he’s been dead for years?”

“I’m not a hundred percent certain,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “But it’s possible his destruction triggered a kind of psychic aftershock, one you didn’t feel until much later. As for the reason for infusing you with his magic in the first place…” She pursed her lips together before speaking. “I think he wanted you to know the legacy that was yours. Like a father would for his child.”

Hank had only ever known his mom; he hadn’t needed a father when he’d had a mother who was provider and protector and a brother who was confidant and best friend. But he sensed an honesty in Zatanna’s words, as well as a profound but buried sadness. “Does this make me meta?”

“No.” She offered him a tiny smile. “It makes you magic.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger nearly together. “A little bit.”

“And it gives our side an edge.” Constantine’s mouth twisted into another wicked grin that showed his eyeteeth; Hank thought the other man must have had a few slivers of Chaos inside him, as well. “It’s been a while since we had a magic-user on the brawnier side of the spectrum.”

While that sounded achingly entertaining, Hank hit him only with a warning glare. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Constantine’s grin became a subtle snarl. “You think you can just walk away from this?”

“Yeah, I do!” Hank said, hopping to his feet. In the same second, he realized that that was not a move for just walking away. He’d also yanked Dawn halfway to her feet, too, because he’d clamped his hands unconsciously into fists when he’d popped up.

He unsnapped his fingers from their clench, but she didn’t move away, just steadied herself beside him. He steadied himself, too, with a three-count breath and a look of apology he hoped she understood.

Zatanna rose, a stately contrast to the rest of them even in her dressing gown. She laid into Constantine with a fierce look. “Stop provoking,” she said. Then her face relaxed, and she turned to Hank and Dawn and gestured to the sofa. “If you please? You came to me for answers, and there’s more I think you should hear.”

Hank glanced at Dawn, who gave a quick and silent nod of urging. She sat on the edge of the sofa with her knees together and laid her hands on her lap. Hank joined her after a moment, sitting equally on the edge. He propped his elbows on his knees, mostly just to keep his leg from doing any anxious bouncing.

As she resumed her seat, Zatanna told them, “When T’Charr and Terataya fell in love, they renounced their places among their fellow Lords. Together, they conceived a new ideal: Balance, where neither Chaos nor Order would hold the upper hand. Instead, the forces would complement each other,” she said, knitting her slender digits together, “using the best attributes of each to create a more unified whole.” Her hands so clasped, she settled them on her lap like a precise schoolmarm. “They each chose an emissary, mortals who were free to make their own decisions and their own mistakes, without any gift of power but that they hoped nonetheless would prove their theory, that Chaos and Order could work together, and each be made stronger for it.” She fixed her blue gaze on Hank. “We know T’Charr chose you to represent Chaos.” She turned her focus to Dawn. “I think Terataya chose you to represent Order.”

Dawn lurched forward. “What? But- But I didn’t have any experience like Hank did!”

“That’s because Terataya was a good little Lord of Order,” Constantine said, “who was used to following the rules. Whereas big bad T’Charr…” He drifted off into a shrug.

Zatanna picked up his fumble with another mellow smile. “As a Lord of Chaos, it was in T’Charr’s nature to be…disruptive.”

While Dawn shook her head and tried to make stammering objections, Hank felt a wave of awareness wash over him.

Don had been the first Dove to his Hawk, but Dawn was the calm to his storm, the mercy to his force, the stillness to his rage. And, with her, he was better, stronger. A more stable and healthier whole, like Zatanna had said. He started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Dawn asked sharply.

The flush in her cheeks and the flashing of her eyes sent a rush of pride through him. Apparently, he’d had an effect on her, too.

“The good kid,” he said around a grin. When her brows skewed into a questioning angle, he said, “Remember when you said you were magic? Well, you were right.”

She huffed. “How are you so OK with this?”

“It’s chaos,” he said with a cheery bump of both shoulders. “I’m used to it.”

Dawn scrutinized him a moment, then relented with a sigh. “So, that’s it?” she asked.

“No,” Constantine said before Hank could reply. “Your Lords of Balance might be dead and gone, but magic lasts forever. Now that you know who – and what – you are, best be on your guard.” He cracked half of that wicked smile again. “You never know who might come knocking.”

Zatanna dismissed any menace real or pretend with a flap of her fingers. “If you have any more questions, or you just want to talk, you can always reach out.”

“How do we do that?” Dawn asked; like Hank, she must have been thinking about spells or incantations. But Zatanna just smiled and said:

“I’ll give you my number.”

She offered to drop them off wherever they wanted – Constantine mentioned needing a lift to _Ireland_ – but Hank declined. It was a nice night, if chilly and late, and the walk to their hotel wasn’t long. When they got back to their room overlooking the lake and had shifted out of their walking-around clothes in preparation for bed, Hank looked at Dawn finger-brushing her hair and asked:

“You OK?”

Her hand stopped mid-drift, and she returned his bemused look. “Yeah.” She let her hand fall through the strands and sat down on the bed, her legs off the side. “Are you?”

He sat down as she did on the opposite side, slowly. “I think so.”

“Weird day,” she muttered.

“Weird couple of weeks,” he said.

“Do you think you’ll hear him again?” She hesitated on the name but ended up saying it anyway. “T’Charr.”

He thought a moment, then said the only thing that was a hundred percent accurate. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “At least, if I do, I’ll know what it’s about. That’s something.” He pulled down the covers and slipped between the sheets, scooting closer to the middle of the bed like he did when they were home.

Dawn joined him there, laying her soft and supple body along his side. She extended her arm across his chest and pressed her cheek over his beating heart. “I was so scared something was going to happen to you,” she whispered.

Hank pressed his nose into her sweet-smelling hair and squeezed his eyes shut. “So was I,” he muttered. Then he kissed her crown and nuzzled his nose there, clutching her hard as he took three deep breaths of the smell of her. The last one he let go as a sigh, and he relaxed his arms into a looser embrace.

“But I’m OK.” He smiled. “And I’m still me.” He pulled his head back to see her face, which she tilted up to his, and said, “And I still love you more than anything.”

She stretched up to kiss him, tenderly and chaste at first. Then he cupped her cheek to hold them close, and their quiet softness turned quickly to eager passion. She climbed on top of him and shed her clothes, and he shimmied and kicked his off the same. Poised above him, her fingers grazed the already-fading scar on his hip.

“OK?” she asked.

He nodded with urgent speed. “Yeah,” he said, and then, “Oh, yes,” as she lowered herself onto him. He sprung up and snatched her behind the head, swallowing any more pointless declarations in favor of her kiss.

They made love like that, in turns wild then gentle then fiercely again, until they were sweating and sore and dizzy with exhaustion and joy. Afterward, as they lay panting up at the ceiling, Hank joked:

“I’m going to need to replace the other hip, after that.”

Dawn burst into laughter, so he did, too, adding another satisfying ache to his muscles.

Her laugh faded into a delighted giggle. “Maybe we overdid it a bit. But that was….”

“Magical?” he prompted with a grin.

“Definitely!” she said, laughing again. Then she stretched and sighed, and the room fell quiet.

Hank rolled onto his side to look at her, for a minute studying the lines and curves of her profile in the ambient radiance streaming in from the window.

She turned her head to look back at him, her smile almost glowing. “I love you, you know,” she said.

A stupidly silly feeling in his belly made him grin again. “Yeah, I know. I love you, too,” he said, and leaned over to kiss her.

Their lips came apart in a slow smack before pressing together again for a second kiss, then a third. They were too tired to start sex again, and he enjoyed the sweet feeling of completeness that came with just being with her.

He brushed a fallen tendril of her hair from her cheek and left his hand to linger there. “When we get home,” he said, “there’s something I want to do. If you’re OK with it.”

Dawn’s eyes were wide open, bright, and generous. “Whatever you need,” she said, holding his palm to her skin.

Hank nodded, licked his lips, and said, “I want to call Dick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Hank. What originally started out as a simple recuperation story turned into THIS hundred-ish-page cosmic thing. But hey! At least I didn't turn you crazy, then make you betray your friends and kill a bunch of superheroes. All I want is for you and Dawn to be happy lovebirds together, and - damn it - I'm going to make it happen, even if it is boring to everyone else.
> 
> A lot of expository dialogue in this one, though I think I did pretty well for myself, considering I collapsed a few decades' worth of comics continuity into this chapter. Zatanna and Constantine proved fun for me again, as did dipping into the mind of a Lord of Chaos. I hope you enjoyed it, too, reader, and that things make at least a little bit more sense than they did before. If they don't, let me know? The beauty of online publishing is that edits are always possible.


	11. Born Ready

Hank squeezed the sphere of sugary distraction from its wrapper and popped it into his mouth, the tangy ball sending click-clack noises through his ears as it rolled against his teeth. He stuffed the wrapper into the pocket of his joggers, where it crinkled among its mates. Behind him, he heard the porch door open and the light tread of feet across the wood as Dawn sucked a _tsk_.

“Why are you so nervous?” she asked in a moderated voice.

He swung his head around and rolled the candy into his cheek to speak. “Who says I’m nervous?”

She lowered the empty laundry basket in her arms with an unblown sigh. “That’s the third hard candy I’ve seen you eat in the last twenty minutes.”

He turned back to stare out at the drive, mumbling, “It’s one of the last vices left to me.”

A creak of a board, the thump of the basket, and a brief waft of lavender preceded her coming to sit next to him. She brushed her arm against his and leaned out into his peripheral vision. Even without seeing her head-on, he could hear the effect of her smile.

“I know this isn’t about just asking for help,” she said softly. “Because you don’t have any trouble doing that with me, or Donna, or Rachel. Why is he so different?”

While Hank kept his eyes on the drive, his focus lay far beyond in both time and distance. Eighteen months or eight years on, those feelings of insignificance – of shame – were still raw.

He unpressed his lips. “He’s Dick,” was all he could say.

Dawn’s hand touched his back, and she pushed herself close for a half-hug. “He’s our friend. You asked him to come, and he’s coming.”

Hank dropped his gaze to his toes, which he curled over the edge of the lower step. When he’d called Dick a week ago, the other man hadn’t hesitated to agree to this visit. Hank wasn’t so stubborn as to not realize it was good to have an ally in Dick Grayson, but Dick’s generous attitude made Hank feel even more the helpless, unfortunate soul.

Dawn stroked the nape of his neck, her touch feather-light and tender. At least she didn’t screw in the knife by saying he should be grateful.

The crunch of dirt up the drive made both of them look as a compact sports car – deep blue-black, stylishly sleek, and impeccably tidy – slowed its approach to the house until it came to an easy stop. The driver’s door swung open, and Dick stepped into view, looking as trim and trendy as his rental car.

Hank pulverized the candy between his molars.

Dawn stood up beside him, calling, “Hey, stranger.”

Dick smiled and waved with one hand. With the other, he held a bulky, metal-reinforced case that looked like it held the nuclear codes. He closed the car door with his waving hand and walked up to the porch.

Hank rose to his feet. Even though he could slouch and still see over the top of Dick’s head, he pushed his shoulders back and leveled his chin.

Dick paused at the bottom of the steps. “Good to see you,” he said, and looked pointedly at Hank. “Both of you.”

Hank swallowed down the candy as well as some of his pride. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Dick lifted the case. “Where can I set up?”

Dawn took a step back to make way and tilted her head toward the house. “Come on in,” she said, leaving the basket as she went to open the door.

Dick nodded and came up the steps, pausing on the porch to squint at Hank. “Did you get bigger?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Hank muttered as he turned and took the task of holding the door from Dawn. Dick passed through and Hank followed him inside, stopping to wipe his feet on the rough entrance rug.

Dick glanced at his own feet. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Only if it makes you more comfortable,” Hank told him. “Don’t do it on my account, though.”

Dawn gestured to the work alcove by the kitchen entrance. “You can set up over here.”

Dick thanked her and moved to the desk, where he set down the big metal case with a heavy thunk. He thumbed and keyed in its security requirements, and while Hank hovered, Dawn asked:

“Can we get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”

“No,” Dick replied, half-distracted as he opened the case. “I’m good.” He took a second to flash her his Boy Wonder smile. “Thanks.”

Dawn nodded. “Well, I’ve got laundry to bring in,” she said, heading for the door again. She stroked Hank’s arm as she passed but didn’t stop walking. “So, I’ll leave you boys to it.”

Hank pulled an abruptly anxious breath as he watched her go. Only after the door closed after her did he turn back to Dick, who by this time had already set up two small-sized cameras around the room – one on the desk with the case and one on the mantle above the fireplace – and was carrying a third, which he balanced somewhat precariously on the arm of the sofa. Once satisfied with its placement, he returned to the case, from which he pulled a rolled-up mat. Hank just watched him as he set the mat on the floor near Hank’s feet and unflapped it to its full width.

“Stand there,” Dick said before turning back toward the desk and his complicated case.

Hank placed his feet on the mat. It squished a little bit under his soles, like a rubbery shower pad. He wiggled his toes, briefly mesmerized as they shifted the dispersal of the mat’s interior. “What does this stuff do?” he asked.

“The pad collects physical data, and the cameras analyze your body structure.”

“Like an MRI?” Hank asked, still watching the effect from his toes.

“With a few additional parameters that Bruce designed during his Justice League days. But yeah. Basically.”

Hank looked up. “Should I take off my clothes?”

Dick raised his head, too. “Only if it makes you more comfortable.” He smiled. “But don’t do it on my account.” He returned his focus to the laptop and did some fast typing. “Just stay still. This should only take a minute or so.”

A minute of standing still might as well have been an hour to his unruly mind. But Dick had said not to fidget, and Hank didn’t want to mess up the machine’s measurements. He roved his gaze around the room, pausing the longest on the door to the front porch, somewhere outside of which Dawn was taking her sweet time with the laundry. He no longer worried about her trading up to Dick – he’d spent a good portion of his rehab therapy dealing with just that issue – but she was a reliable buffer between them, keeping them both from walking into potentially explosive territory.

“Where was your surgery?” Dick asked out of the blue, glancing up from the computer with a furrowed brow.

“Right anterior hip,” Hank said.

Dick returned to the computer. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Probably nothing. But it’s not showing up on the scan.”

“Well, I definitely had it,” Hank told him sharply.

Dick put his fist to his mouth for a protracted thought. He raised his head but kept his gaze on the machine in front of him. “Is it possible the magic manifests as some sort of advanced healing factor?”

Hank held back a sneer. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you and your Bat-gadgets, now, would I?”

Dick fell silent once more. After another long stretch of moments, he gave another grunt. “Well, that’s it.”

“You’re done?”

“Done calibrating,” Dick confirmed.

Hank walked to the desk. He stooped to peer over Dick’s shoulder, but the numbers and graphs loading calculations didn’t make much sense to him. Plus, they were boring. He frowned and said, “You’re going to have to translate.”

Dick waved his hand at the monitor’s readouts. “Physically, you’re at the top of your game. And all data are in-line with a normal human male. No physiological or genetic anomalies.”

“What about the magic?” Hank asked. At that, Dick lost some of his confidence.

“I’m not sure. Magic is tricky,” he was quick to amend. “Even Bruce gets stumped by it half the time.”

“Are you serious?” Hank stood straight with a gawping stare. “I need to know if—!” He snapped his lips together.

With his arm thrown over the back of the chair, Dick urged, “If what?”

Hank let his shoulders slump. “This Chaos stuff,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want to pass it on to a kid.”

Dick’s inquisitive expression became a smile. “I think any kid of yours would be pretty chaotic, regardless of any magical influence.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, but he smiled a little bit, too. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Why are you so worried about it, anyway?”

“Because this was supposed to be a new start!” Hank said, gesturing around at the house and its quiet, domestic details that he and Dawn had put in place over the last year and a half. “I got sober, I’d have my surgery, and I could finally give Dawn the good life, that we’d been waiting for. The kind of life she deserves. No masks, no capes, no crazy assholes trying to blow us up.” He sighed. “Then this shit happens.”

Another awkward silence settled in the room, prompting Hank to wonder once more where in the hell Dawn had gotten to. Then Dick said:

“Maybe you’re thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe _this_ _is_ the fresh start.”

Hank skewed an eyebrow at him. “How do you mean?”

“This magical endowment you’ve got—”

“Imbuement,” Hank corrected, and made a face. “Endowment makes it sound like something else.”

Dick let out a short chuckle. “Imbuement,” he said before continuing. “Maybe it’s there to protect you.”

“Except that it didn’t protect me from Trigon.” Hank blew a tiny sigh through his nose, muttering, “Or keep me from becoming an addict.”

“Well,” Dick said, then paused for a long thought. When he picked up again, it was with the same enviable mental speed as before. “That could be part of it. You said both you and Dawn were chosen, but the magic only manifested in you. Well, we know that addiction changes brain composition. Your addiction might have opened up some lock in your mind that ordinarily would have kept the magic from being closed off.”

Hank frowned. “Are you saying that the Chaos magic influenced me to become an addict, so that my addiction would let me tap into the Chaos magic?”

Dick shrugged. “I’m just throwing out ideas.” 

That sounded no more reasonable or unreasonable than any other idea he’d heard or had over the last several weeks. Even so, Hank yanked out the other chair at the table and sat down hard, dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “I want a drink,” he mumbled into his chest.

He heard Dick shift on his chair. “No, you don’t,” the other man said softly.

Hank sucked a breath and threw his head back, the motion bringing him fully upright. “No, I don’t,” he agreed. He hunched forward again, cringing his fingers into angry talons. “I just want to have some control! You know?” he said, releasing the clench of his hands just as quickly and letting them fall to his lap.

Dick nodded. “Maybe you’re like Rachel,” he said. “We all saw how she changed when she accepted what she could do, started learning how to harness it.”

Recalling Rachel’s soul-self form hovering in his hospital room, Hank’s gaze fell to the table. “How’s she doing?” he muttered.

“OK. There’s a lot of guilt there, and a lot of fear, but we’re working on it.” With his chin down, Hank felt more than saw him pause. Then Dick blew a beleaguered sigh and said, “Why didn’t you just come to me when all this started?”

Hank jerked his head up, shooting Dick a glare. “Oh, come on!”

“What?”

“I know what you did.”

Dick’s blue eyes went from saucers to knives. “What are you talking about?”

“You paid for my rehab!” Hank shouted at him. “Not that I’m not grateful, but— Jesus! Do you know what that’s like? To have somebody with a bunch of money just fucking swoop in and save you from your own life?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Dick snapped back. Then he backtracked with a shake of his head and a smoother reply. “Look, it’s not like the money came out of my bank account. The Wayne Foundation supports charity efforts all over the world.”

“So, now, I’m a charity case,” Hank said with a sneer. “Great. Thanks for that.”

Dick waved his palm. “I didn’t mean it that way. I had the connections, and I wanted to help. Dawn would have killed me if I hadn’t!” He took a breath, and in that time, his voice dropped to a mutter. “And I didn’t want to lose another friend.”

Hank had no riposte to that. Instead, after a lengthy string of seconds, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you before I got Rachel involved.”

“I’m sorry we overreacted about it,” Dick replied. “And I’m glad you’re OK. Or, you know,” he said with another short chuckle, “as OK as somebody who ran around in a big, bright red and white costume was ever going to be. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s better to blend in?”

“I like being the center of attention,” Hank quipped around a tight smile.

“You don’t say,” Dick needled.

They shared a brief look of unspoken friendship, and Hank muttered, “Thanks.”

Dick smiled. “Once a Titan, always a Titan.”

Hank snorted. “That’s so corny.”

“I mean it,” Dick said. “You and Dawn always have a place with us, in or out of costume. I know Rachel and Gar would love to see you more often.” He pinched his lips together a moment. “And I miss you, too, believe it or not.”

Hank snapped a grin. “No, you don’t.” At Dick’s look of protest, he jabbed a finger and said, “I guarantee within a week, we’d be locking horns and throwing down in the sparring room, leaving Dawn and Kory to clean up the mess. I do miss the kids, though,” he muttered with more seriousness. He broke into another tentative smile. “What do you think about letting them come out here once in a while? Get out of the city, stretch their wings a bit. We could be like a satellite campus.”

Dick’s expression lit up. “That’s not a bad idea.” He shot a look toward the door. “You think Dawn would go for it?”

“I think I could convince her,” Hank told him with a confident snicker.

With the air clear again between them, he left Dick to pack up his gadgets while he went in search of Dawn. He found her on the porch swing, her legs tucked to the side and a book in her hand. The basket of folded laundry sat on the porch, out of the way.

“Here you are,” he said, stroking the long, dangling flow of her hair.

She didn’t look up from her book but reached up with her other hand to knit her fingers among his. “I figured you two could benefit from some uninterrupted face-time.”

“You’re devious.” He bent down and kissed the crown of her head, staying among her sweet-smelling hair to mutter, “And I love you.”

That made her hum and tip her head back, to accept a second quick press of his lips. “Did you find out anything?”

“I’m an asshole.”

“I meant, anything new.”

He smiled. “I’m safe. You’re safe. Baby’s safe, too,” he murmured, and scrunched his nose. “You know. When we’re ready.”

She beamed a loving grin, set down her book, and sewed both hands behind his head. “Come here,” she said, drawing him in for another upside-down kiss.

The door sounded behind him. He heard the shuffling of shoes, then Dick asked:

“Should I go out the back, instead?”

“Nah,” Hank said, rising from Dawn’s nuzzling. “We’re done.”

“For the moment,” she corrected. She slipped her feet to the floorboards to make room for one of them. “Leaving already?” she asked Dick, who had his closed-up case at his side.

“I’m booked on a flight back tonight,” he said.

Hank stayed at Dawn’s head, resting both hands on her shoulders for a light rub. He hesitated just a moment. “We could make an early dinner,” he offered, and around one of his hands Dawn squeezed her fingers.

Dick paused for an uncertain second, too, then nodded and smiled. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

They stretched their dinner for two to three, chatting as they prepped and ate around the kitchen bar. Dick told them about training the young Titans, and Hank broached his idea about having them come out to the house. Dawn gushed with excitement over the possibilities, setting to rest any doubts of her support.

“You know,” Dawn said after they’d cleared the dinner dishes and Dick was getting ready to leave. “Hank will be two years sober in February. We were thinking of having a little party.”

“Just cake and soda,” Hank said. “Maybe set up the grill, if it’s not too snowy.”

“Outside?” Dick looked horrified.

Hank shrugged. “What? It builds character.”

“You’re welcome to come,” Dawn said with a smile. “You could bring the kids, too.”

Dick relaxed with a chuckle. “I’m sure they’d like that.”

Hank raised his brows. “Don’t forget about first class.”

Dick fixed him with a grin. “Just make sure you’re ready, too.”

Three weeks later, Hank stood at the airport’s domestic arrivals, waiting for the passengers from the San Francisco flight to make their way into the main concourse. A wave of distracted people in business suits and chatting on phones hurried past him, followed by some frazzled families moving quickly and lovey couples strolling leisurely. Then, part of the pack but not, a girl with black hair with streaks of blue who was dressed in a simple black jumpsuit walked through the security doors.

Hank smiled, stood up from his lean against the wall, and waved.

Rachel’s gaze found him. She waved, too, and approached him with flowing, measured steps. “Hank,” she greeted. She was still strangely formal, though in person there was also a warmth about her that her soul-self projection hadn’t conveyed.

His hands itched at his sides. “Can I hug you?”

“Of course,” she said, and leaned into him.

He gave her a long squeeze, mindful of his strength in comparison to her size. She was petite but formidable, in her own way. It was what made her a Titan. And it was why he’d asked for her first.

“So.” Hank let her go to take a step back and put his fists on his hips in a preparatory stance. “Ready to raise your fighting game?”

Rachel returned him a smile and a challenge of her own. “Ready to learn some magic?”

He grinned. “For this? Kiddo, I was born ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson is one of - if not the - oldest superhero crush in my history. He's evolved a lot over the years, but, to me (kind of like Hank), he'll always be Robin, the Boy Wonder. Every hero comes with his or her own baggage, though, and Dick is no different. The baggage seems to be especially heavy when it comes to his friendship with Hank. Luckily, the two always remember they're both on the same side. Eventually. 
> 
> This story has been a ride full of challenges and joys, I'm sorry to see it end. I could end it here...but I was thinking of doing one more chapter to wrap it all up. What do you all think? Consider this one closed, or go for the final look-ahead?
> 
> Thanks, as always, for everyone who's read, and especially to those who make the time to comment. Your support keeps me going.


	12. A Little Chaos

They sat outside together in the late November chill, Hank on the porch swing and Rachel levitating three feet above the floorboards in her meditation pose, her packed bag sitting next to the space where her feet would have been if she’d been standing. Until today, these mid-morning sessions had been for developing concentration and self-awareness techniques, designed to help him better attune himself to the ebbs and flows of the Chaos magic inside him. But this was Rachel’s last day, and Hank didn’t want their time to pass without some acknowledgment of gratitude.

“It’s been really nice having you here, kiddo,” he said as he passed from one hand to the other the hard rubber ball he’d taken to using as a focus device. He couldn’t sit in a yoga position for hours on end, and she couldn’t keep up with him on his meditative jogs, so they’d compromised with the resistance ball. “I never thought I’d be into magic, but, with you, it’s been pretty cool.”

Rachel peeked one eye open at him, and her mouth formed a tiny smile. “This has been fun for me, too.”

“Listen.” He set the ball aside. “Thanksgiving’s in a few days. We could make a big dinner, with pie and everything, and keep training. I’m good at training,” he added with a grin.

“You have made impressive strides in an extraordinarily short amount of time.”

“Still can’t cast spells, though.” He said it as a joke, but she took him at his word.

“No.” She opened her eyes fully and gave him a look of touching sympathy. “I doubt that you will ever be able to control the Chaos magic to that extent. But what is more important to remember is that it should not control you.”

He nodded, holding back a snicker for her sake. “Be the hammer, not the nail.”

She bobbed her head, too. “Indeed. I’m pleased to see your understanding increase, as well.”

He let a smile come through. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

A faint blush crossed her pale cheeks. “I’m grateful you chose me to help. This has been a good learning experience for me, as well.”

“So, why not stay a little longer?”

Her cheeriness faded abruptly. “I have my own training to resume, back at the Tower. And, as much as I have appreciated being here, I have also been an obstacle.”

Hank sat forward, making the swing’s chain creak. “What are you talking about? You’re not an obstacle.” He laughed his disdain. “You’ve been helping me!”

“With understanding your magic. But not with living your life.” Rachel hummed, almost like a sigh, and lowered herself to her feet, to pad over to within arm’s length of him. “Hank,” she said softly. “Your dedication is admirable. But you need to examine the possibility that you are using this training as a distraction from a more important concern.”

“What concerns?” he challenged. “My life’s fine. Great. The best it’s ever been!”

She moved to the space next to him, perching on the edge of the swing like a skittish fledgling. “Why did you leave the Titans?” she asked.

Hank swallowed. “I was messed up. I needed to get clean.”

“And why was that important?”

“Dawn wouldn’t be with me any other way.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like the person I was, either. But that’s in the past. I’m better, now! You can see that, right?”

She nodded. “I can. But why does it matter?”

He laughed again, uncomfortably. “So that Dawn and I can have the life we’ve been working for. Get married, have kids…!”

Rachel shone her big, searching gaze at him. “Then why have you spent the last two weeks avoiding her?”

Hank stared at her. “I haven’t—!” He threw his arm out toward the house. “She’s been here the whole time!” And it was true. Mornings, meals, post-lesson cooldowns, nights in their bed: Dawn was a steady fixture through it all. But also true, he knew, deep down, was his tendency to get absorbed in the latest case or challenge. He couldn’t just say that to Rachel, though. Instead, he got up from the swing and went through into the house, to prove to her and himself and everybody else that he and Dawn were living their best life yet right-fucking-now.

She was just getting off a call on her phone, one that had left her laughing and grinning in girlish happiness. She still smiled as she looked over at him, though it wilted a bit at its corners.

“Hey,” she said as her hand with the phone drifted down to the island. “That was Donna.”

“Everything all right?” Hank asked, thrown temporarily off his game.

Dawn nodded. “She’s fine. She’s doing some photo work for the Joffrey this weekend; asked me if I’d like to come out for a few days to join her. I said yes,” she told him, and quickly followed up with some rapid-fire reasoning. “I figured I could drive Rachel to the airport and then just keep going to meet Donna. We’ve been so busy these last few months, it would be nice to take a break from everything. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Yeah,” he said without thinking. “I mean, no. No, of course, I don’t mind.” He smiled. “That sounds great.”

She blinked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said again. “You should totally go.”

“OK.” She tossed her hand behind her, in the direction of their bedroom. “I guess, I should go pack.” She hesitated for a breath and squinted at him. “You’re sure you’re OK with this?”

“Go!” he said, waving his arms and laughing to dismiss her concern. “Be free.”

So, she went, taking Rachel with her and leaving him to his own devices for three days full of wondering and sober soul-searching. During that time, he cooked and cleaned and practiced his control techniques. He worked and worked out and winterized the house. He read up on raptors and bobcats and ranger programs and watched “Fight Club” and “The Lion King” (and then “The Lion King” again) while he ate his dinners for one alone. And every night, after a long, hot bath, he climbed into bed feeling the loss of the woman he loved.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Rachel’s questions had started a scratching at the base of his brain. He _was_ the best he’d ever been; he and Dawn _were_ in the best place to start the life they’d always talked about. So, what was the problem?

“All this magic stuff has put you in knots,” Roy told him over the phone. “You need to remember what it’s like to be a regular guy again. Why don’t you and Dawn come out here, join me and Lian for Thanksgiving?”

“We can’t just hop on a plane to Seattle whenever we feel like it,” Hank said wryly. But when Dawn returned from her long weekend of metropolitan adventure, flush with stories of late-night parties in makeup and heels and late-morning coffees in pajamas and slippers, she’d loved the idea of a holiday getaway to the coast, even for only a few days. Hank couldn’t deny her that happiness. He’d already denied her so much, with his mysteries and magic.

Roy’s was fun, and Hank genuinely enjoyed spending time with Lian. Dawn did, too, enough to make Lian’s antics the main topic of conversation for their entire trip home. After that, it was a return to routine: work, chores, and – for Hank, anyway – more training. For week after week, their lives went on, mostly as normal. December blew through as a frigid blizzard. Even so, Hank went out running every morning, and every morning, Rachel’s questions attacked him more fiercely than the cold.

The meditation that came from physical repetition allowed him to melt those questions down, little by little every day…until the day came when his head wouldn’t let his body run anymore, and he found himself standing ankle-deep in the snow, wheezing breaths that turned almost to ice as they escaped his lips, all while the answer filled his head in a roar like T’Charr’s deafening howl.

He raced back to the house, arms pumping, throat burning, chest nearly bursting with energy or exertion or – hell! – maybe even magic. He nearly tripped up the steps of the porch, he took them so fast, and wrenched the knob of the door in his hand as he shoved it open with a shout. “Dawn!”

“Kitchen,” she called back.

He shut the door and yanked off his snow goggles and hat, dropping them next to the doormat. He left his gloves on his wet trail to the kitchen, too, but met her in the kitchen in the rest of his winterwear. He was still gulping air.

She rose from the kitchen island, leaving her steaming coffee cup beside her plate of toast. “Hank?”

“I love you,” he blurted.

Dawn eased around the edge of the island toward him, sliding noiselessly in her fluffy house socks. “I love you, too,” she said, her tone as wary as a hostage negotiator’s. She creased her brow and raised her hands toward his face, slowly. “Are you OK?”

For nearly a minute, he just stood there wheezing through his warming lips, fighting to make the words.

“I’m scared,” he got out at last, and the massive release was not unlike the feeling on the night he’d come to her miserable and weeping, begging for kindness and forgiveness to help him out of his addictions. “God, Dawn. I’m so scared I’m going to fuck this up.”

“Fuck what up?” she asked, stroking at his hair. “Baby, tell me what’s happened.”

“This.” He gestured around at the house. “Us. A kid! That’s why I got so wrapped up in that useless case and this stupid magic training and—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she said to shush him, and let her hand trail gently from his temple to his cheek in the way they both knew always soothed him. Beneath her thick lashes, her eyes were penetrating and clear. “The case wasn’t useless, and your training isn’t stupid. You needed to know those things. _We_ needed to know those things, before we could move on. And I, for one, feel a lot better with the truth. Don’t you?”

He nodded, once, already feeling more at ease. “Yeah.”

She smiled up at him. “And I’m scared, too,” she said in a whispery coo.

“Of what?” he said, but before his defensive walls went up or his fingers cringed into talons, she let out a disarming, self-deprecating laugh.

“Of being a wife, and a mom. Not Dove! Taking out a warehouse of dope pushers or a gang of gun runners is nothing compared to taking care of a family. Making sure they’re safe, and taken care of, and getting enough sleep…!”

Hank put his hands on her shoulders. “You’d be a great mom! I mean, shit! You’ve basically taken care of me for the last eight years. And you wouldn’t be alone,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d be there, too. For feedings and fussiness and all the weird stuff that kids need.” He laughed at a sudden vague recollection. “You know, I can remember teaching Donny how to use pull-up pants. And that it was safe to flush the toilet, because he was afraid he’d fall in!”

Dawn laughed again, then turned quiet once more and laid her fingers on the chest of his jacket. “It’s always been you and me,” she said in a cooing whisper. “Hawk and Dove. Hank and Dawn.”

“It’ll still be you and me. Still Dawn and Hank, just plus one.” He tilted his head down and smiled. “Or two or three.”

She raised her face to his with a smile of her own. “Now, you’re getting greedy.”

“What? I don’t want our little baby bird to be lonely!” He pulled her into a hug then, and she returned with a sturdy squeeze of her arms around him, her cheek crinkling against the chest of his jacket. He bowed his nose to her hair and told her there, “I don’t know how all this Chaos stuff is going to change things. _If_ it’s going to change things! But I know that I love you. And I want to be there for you, always, the way you’ve been for me.”

She pumped her arms. “You already are.” She craned her head up to look him in the face. “You just get a little fixated, sometimes.”

“Yank me back to you when I do, huh?”

She replied with a smirk and a firm jerk on his jacket that bumped their bodies together.

He grinned. “Just like that,” he said, and bent down to kiss her.

Their physical chemistry crackled, then snapped into flame, sending his senses into a swirl. She pulled away first out of their breathless kiss and murmured:

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

“Yeah.” He threw a glance that way. “Should I get a condom, too? Or do we want to roll the dice?”

Dawn twitched her nose. “Let’s make a little chaos.”

Hank snickered and toed off his wet sneakers, kicking them aside into a squeaking clutter. Then he braced his feet and tucked one arm behind her knees.

She held firm an extra moment. “You’re sure?”

“Hundred percent,” he told her before sweeping her up into a carry.

She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him, gently but with palpable affection. As he shuffled them to the bedroom, she hummed and fixed him with one of her playfully shrewd looks. “Have you gotten bigger?”

He grinned. “Yes,” he said, and they both broke into giddy, gleeful laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with me until the end! Special thanks to everyone who has taken time out of their busy schedules to let me know their thoughts.
> 
> I had a great time writing this story, revisiting characters and friendships (and subplots) in some cases many years or even decades old! Even though it's a mishmash of continuities and canon, I think I did OK. Mostly, it's just been fun writing about Hank and Dawn, and what their partnership might look like post-masked crimefighter life. In some ways, this was just a prologue to the many stories I have in my head for them and their friends, and I hope to one day share those, too. But readers are an important piece of that journey, too. So, what did you think?
> 
> Until next story, happy reading!


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